The Teaser
by Dirty Reid
Summary: A collection of one-shots that I may or may not turn into complete fics. Contains wierdness.
1. Dad the Original BAMF

**The Teaser**

**A collection of HP fics/ideas that may or may not come to be by Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Well, once again dear readers, I'm turning out a piece of work… composed of pieces of work I'd like to write, but don't currently have the time/inspiration to do so. Well, I guess that's not true, but in order to write these, I'd have to drop quite a few of my older works in progress.**

**Keep in mind though, that if I get a particularly positive response for one or more of these teasers, I might turn it into a full-fledged fic. Or, if you ask nicely, I may let you adopt a chapter and turn it into a fic yourself. Remember that. Note as well that these are snippets of fics, so they're fairly unrefined and there will be a lot of gaps.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Chapter 1: Dad the Original BAMF**

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><p>"So… this is it."<p>

The words were spoken… no, _drawled_ by a hulking brute of a man. He stood at least six feet tall, and could not have weighed less than two hundred pounds. But to say he was fat was to say that Justin Bieber didn't look like a fag. The man's bare muscular arms were as large as a small tree, and his faded jeans were stretched to near breaking point. Around his large waist was a bullet belt composed of real .50 BMG bullets. The buckle was shaped like the universal symbol for nuclear radiation. A red tank top was stretched over his rock-hard abdominals and basketball-sized pectorals. His bored blue eyes were concealed by sunglasses and his platinum blonde crew cut dimly reflected the sun shining into King's Cross Train Station. Of course, most of this was hidden beneath an incredibly expensive, anaconda skin trench coat. The brute was arguably the most famous person on the planet, but these Brits weren't as fond of him as the Americans; apparently what he 'stood for' offended a whole lot more people over here.

"I guess 93/4 is hidden somewhere." Said the brute's much smaller companion. Despite that, he was quite a bit bigger than most people at eleven years of age. He 'blamed' it on the brute teaching him the values of physical activity when he turned eight. Due to him not having experienced the horrors of puberty yet, his muscles fell far short of bulging to settle comfortably in 'wiry' territory. He too wore a set of jeans with a belt composed of .50 AE rounds and a lightning bolt buckle. Unlike the brute, he wore a set of red Converse sneakers instead of Doc Martens. He wore a white t-shirt that fit him quite snugly, and a high quality leather jacket. Instead of sunglasses though, he wore a set of frameless designer glasses which did nothing to hide his jade eyes. His tar black hair was as out of control as a breached Japanese nuclear reactor, and partially shaded a jagged scar on his forehead. Beside him was a large trolley with a trunk and a huge cage with something that could- at best- be described as a purple, winged lizard with three eyes. It drew quite a few curious or creeped out looks.

"You sure you want to do this?" the brute asked as he turned his blocky but well-chiseled face to his younger counterpart. His mouth angled down into a concerned frown. "You really sure you wanna give up becoming a doctor to learn how to wave a stick an' shout 'Abracadabra'?" he continued. The kid chuckled restrainedly at the stereotype.

"I think of it as a mostly free trial offer. If learning magic ain't for me, I can always leave. Screw that old, Limey bastard and this destiny bullshit." The kid had a very colourful vocabulary for someone his age. He blamed it on the brute and his choice in… pleasurable company. Said brute smirked in satisfaction and placed one of his large hands on the kid's shoulder.

"That's my boy." He crowed quietly to his son. The son smiled and leaned into his father's side. The father had only recently gotten comfortable with public displays of affection. He'd had his thoughts (He would _never_ admit to fearing something) that doing so would negatively affect the image he had crafted through his achievements. When he discovered it made women think he had a more sensitive side, he quickly became all for it. As he patted his son's arm a couple times, he reached inside of his snake skin coat to withdraw a wide, near flat wooden box.

"Just an extra wild card." He explained at his son's inquisitive look. The black-haired boy slowly released the latch and opened the box. He whistled softly as he was treated to the sight of a loaded black Jericho 941F semi-automatic and four clips of .40 S&W rounds. Lying beneath the gun and clips was a leather holster

"You really think this is necessary?" he asked as he closed the box and held it under his arm. His father shrugged his enormous shoulders.

"Uncle Chuck said that dealing with some of these people's more of a bitch than that one uber-feminist chick I got drunk with and brought home." He admitted. The kid shuddered; Haley Briscoe had screamed at his father for almost an hour about how his being famous made his chauvinistic attitude all that much worse because of the people who desired to emulate him. If Uncle Chuck said something like that, you believed it to the letter. I mean come on, this was the word of a man who had won The Game… TWICE.

"Alright, just hope I don't have to use it." He wished. The father grinned.

"Even if you do, I'll still love ya kid." He fondly ruffled the kid's hair, who was blushing as he told his father he loved him too. "Now go out there and show the world what it means to kick ass and chew bubble gum; the reputation of your family demands it."

* * *

><p>"Excuse me," a timid voice came from the door, causing the boy to look over and gaze at a pudgy, round faced boy and a bossy but cute-looking girl with large teeth standing in the train compartment's hall. "Can we sit here? Everywhere else is full." He added.<p>

"Go ahead, toots." The boy answered, indicating the seat across from him.

"'Toots'?" the girl repeated, looking just a bit peeved.

"Cutie, hot stuff, beautiful, take your pick." The boy added. The girl narrowed her eyes but blushed at the same time when she realized he was complimenting her. They both took a seat across from the boy. It was only then that they both noticed that he was a good couple inches taller than either of them, and quite noticeably more physically fit. The round-faced boy found those details rather intimidating when coupled with the fact that his glasses flashed eerily in the light of the late morning. The girl, while a little young to be concerned with this particular topic, found him rather handsome.

The boy looked over his two silent train mates. Both were smaller than him. He had already identified the girl as cute (_'She'll be a bombshell in a couple years,'_ he concluded), and the boy looked as jumpy as…

"Is that a _toad_ on your shoulder?" he blurted out. The smaller boy flinched at the sudden question. He reached up and pulled the corpulent amphibian down.

"Y-yes. This is Trevor." He explained. "I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way." Neville added. The taller boy flicked his eyes over to the girl.

"Hermione Granger," she answered his unspoken question.

"Charmed," he said as he flashed a smile that showed off the thousands of dollars worth of work that had gone into his pearly whites. Hermione and Neville became distracted for a second by his teeth, but their attention quickly became refocused on his face.

"And your name is…?" Hermione trailed off just a little impatiently. The boy blinked.

"Oh, sorry. I'm so used to people recognizing me that I haven't had to introduce myself for quite a while. Name's Harry." Harry answered. Hermione wasn't satisfied.

"Harry who?" Hermione pressed. Harry sniffed.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he answered dismissively. She raised one of her eyebrows.

"Try me." she shot back, crossing her arms. Neville looked on quietly. Harry was silent for a few seconds until he shrugged his large shoulders.

"Nukem," he finally said. Hermione blinked.

"Newcombe?" she asked. Harry was about to say 'What the fuck? I didn't stutter!' until he deduced that she probably thought that his American accent (Las Vegas accent, to be specific) had made him slur his words or something.

"No. Nukem, spelled N-U-K-E-M." Harry clarified. Hermione's eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth. This was only for a second though, because doubt quickly entered her eyes.

"No way. You're having me on." She proclaimed with a shake of her head. Neville looked thoroughly confused.

"Did I miss something?" He murmured. Hermione turned her attention over to him and her expression softened.

"Harry here is claiming that he is the son of one of the most famous- and arguably the most dangerous- men alive, Duke Nukem. Seven years ago, an armada of extraterrestrials invaded Earth, mostly America, and began to abduct and kill people. By some miracle, Nukem was able to drive them off. Since then, he's become one of the most recognized Muggles in all of history." Hermione explained. Neville nodded in understanding. Harry was just nonplussed; this kid hadn't heard of Duke Nukem? How isolated could this ass-backwards culture possibly be?

"I figured I might have to prove that." Harry said calmly as he reached into his coat and withdrew a photo. Hermione took a hold of it gently, and her jaw fell open again. In the photo was Harry, looking a couple years younger, standing next to his hulking brute of an adopted father, Duke Nukem. Duke appeared to be smirking (It was hard to tell the difference between a smirk and a smile when he wore those shades all the time), and Harry was smiling the biggest smile she had ever seen. Seconds passed in silence before Hermione looked back up at the grinning boy across from her.

"You don't look anything like Duke Nukem." She remarked. _'Saw that coming.' _Harry remarked silently.

"I'm adopted." He stated. "Dad's not the type to get married and settle down, if you know what I mean." He added.

"Actually, I don't." Neville piped up.

"Yeah, it's probably better that way." Harry admitted.

"So Harry, what's it like living with Duke Nukem?" Hermione asked with a hungry look in her eyes. Harry adjusted his position.

"Well one, I'm living in a palace in Las Vegas…"

* * *

><p>"Potter, Harry!" Minerva McGonagall called. Whispers immediately erupted from the four tables of students.<p>

"_Potter_ did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Harry's eyes darted around as the whispers continued. Apparently the name from the life he had left behind held something of a reputation. Despite being called, he did not respond; he wasn't Harry Potter any more.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called again, louder this time. The students were looking around for Harry Potter, clearly dumbfounded. Harry looked up at the staff table, clearly bored, and saw several teachers staring at him. That insufferable goat fucker Dumbledore, some man with a hooked nose who had clearly never touched a bottle of shampoo, and a rather attractive woman with a sharp face. There was something off about the weird dude with the turban though…

Harry was startled out of his thoughts when McGonagall roughly grabbed his arm. "I've called you three times Mr. Potter! It is your turn to be Sorted." She said sternly. Over five hundred sets of eyes were now focused on the muscular Nukem heir. He sighed.

"Well, you _were_ calling me the wrong name." Harry said like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. That little statement was enough to give McGonagall pause.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"For all intensive purposes, Harry Potter is dead and gone, Professor; my name is Nukem, not Potter. Harry Nukem." Harry elaborated before he ambled lazily up to the stool, sat down and threw the frayed hat on his head.

"Hmm, what a mind. No shortage of courage or intelligence, I see. Loyal only to those who prove themselves to you, a rather fickle trait. My my, such a desire to prove yourself at least half as good as your father… such an interesting man. But where to place you, Mr. Potter?" A voice echoed through his head. Another twinge of annoyance coursed through Harry.

'_For fuck's sake, weren't you listening a moment ago? My name is __Nukem__.' _Harry corrected the sentient article of clothing.

"Ah, my apologies, Mr. Nukem. I must admit, no student has ever been brave enough to back-talk me in such a scathing manner. With such bravery, you clearly are a-" "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table full of lions erupted into cheers as Harry pulled off his hat and marched over to the table with his arms raised. Neville moved over with a small smile as his new friend sat down beside him. Once the Sorting ended, Harry was greeted by half a dozen or so people who kept calling him Harry Potter. Naturally, he didn't respond and turned to the other people who were trying to talk to him. People started to get annoyed when he turned away from them, but he paid them no mind until Hermione- who was on his other side- smacked his chest.

"What?" He asked. She glared at him.

"These people are talking to you Harry! And you didn't tell me you were really Harry _Potter_!" She chided. Anyone who knew Harry well enough knew that no matter what, he never missed a beat. And that's exactly what he didn't do at that very second.

"No they're not. They're talking to Harry Potter; I'm not Harry Potter." He replied. Everyone around him looked confused.

"What?" Asked another firstie who had been sorted into Gryffindor, Ron Weasels or something like that. "But you… you've got the scar and everything!" he protested, pointing at the reddish brown mark that had never left Harry's forehead- despite thousands of dollars in cosmetic surgery- and was partially veiled by his mess of black hair.

"That may be true, but I think you missed what I meant, shrimp." Harry said with a smirk as Ron frowned when his size was made fun of, mixed with a healthy amount of not understanding.

"I stopped being Harry Potter years ago. From then until the end of time, I swore to be known forever as Harry Nukem, son of Duke Nukem, the biggest BAMF on the planet." Harry proudly proclaimed, holding his right hand over his heart. Several people could have sworn they saw a ghostly American flag and the words 'DAD KICKS ASS' phase into existence behind him. Silence reigned for almost a minute.

"What's BAMF mean?" asked a cute dark-skinned girl named Parvati Patil. Harry looked over at her with a critical eye; she'd be smokin' hot in a couple years.

"It's an acronym. It stands for 'Bad-Ass Motherfucker'." Harry informed her. A gasp went up around the table.

"Harry, language!" Hermione shrilled.

"I'll stop swearing when you stop being cute." Harry shot back, making Hermione flush beet red.

"Your father is _Duke Nukem_?" A black boy named Dean exclaimed.

"Who's Duke Nukem?" asked a red-headed twin. Dean rounded on him and claimed 'There is no way you've never heard of him!'

"Relax Dean," Harry said with a raised hand. "You can regale them with tales of my dad's badassery once someone explains why this whole school seems to have a hard-on for Harry Potter."

* * *

><p><strong>And there we have Chapter 1 of 'The Teaser'. I know it's not that great, but it's the first idea of its kind: Harry Potter raised by Duke Nukem! Please:<strong>

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment  
><strong>**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment  
><strong>**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment  
><strong>**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Peace out,**

**Dirty Reid**

**P.S.: Can you figure out who Harry's 'Uncle Chuck' is? I left a pretty big clue somewhere in here… ;)**


	2. Nicoletta Imperioli

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: I went back and fixed a few things at the behest of someone who actually spoke Italian and was gracious enough to correct my mistakes. Cheers!**

**Chapter 2: Nicoletta Imperioli**

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><p>Alone again on the Hogwarts Express.<p>

This wasn't anything new to Harry. It had happened in his first and fifth year; first because he was friendless, and fifth because Ron and Hermione had their Prefect duties. This year, they had their Prefect duties and Ginny was off with her friends.

This year though, Harry was having an even harder time finding a compartment without zealous fans in it. All of them seemed to want to bask in the presence of 'The Chosen One', and there was nothing he hated more than attention focused on his fame. He had been searching for nearly ten minutes, winding his way towards the very end of the train. There seemed to be no end to compartments filled with annoyingly supportive fans, terrified firsties or suck-ups. This was getting really irksome, really fast.

Luck though, seemed to take pity on Harry again and cut him a break. He was about to walk past a door in the third last compartment when he stopped and saw no one sitting on the couch facing him. He stepped back to look at the other side and found a single occupant.

There was a girl in there, staring out the window. The angle at which she had tilted her head left her face a mystery to him. He was however, able to see the tone of her skin suggested she was of a Mediterranean persuasion. Her brown hair had an undercurrent of dark red, making it look the colour of a very fine, aged wine. Another aspect of this girl that gave Harry pause was the clothing she wore. Everyone else on the train was dressed in shirts and pants or skirts, or casual magical clothing. This girl was dressed in a suit. A very expensive Muggle pinstripe suit with a short skirt that showed off her long legs, he noted with a more careful look. The high heels on her feet weren't particularly fancy-looking or shiny, but they were probably expensive nonetheless. He didn't know why, but the girl's attire made him even more apprehensive as he gently rapped on the sliding glass door. The girl languidly rolled her head and set a cool gaze upon him.

She was around his age and absolutely beautiful. Her face was formed into the shape of a soft-sided diamond, and her chin, cheek bones and nose were not unattractively sharp. Harry didn't know why, but he felt strangely naked as her chestnut brown eyes stared at him while he opened the door.

"Err, sorry to bother you, but could I sit here?" Harry mumbled, cursing his inability to speak clearly in front of attractive women. The girl stared at him for a few seconds. Just when Harry thought she was about to say no, she graced him with what could only be described as a half smile.

"Sure," she answered in a soft voice slicked with an Italian brogue. "C'mon in." she added a gesture as Harry closed the door and sat down opposite her. For a few seconds, silence reigned as jade green eyes stared into chestnut brown.

"I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts before." Harry finally broke the silence.

"I'm a transfer student. Name's Scaletta; Nicoletta Scaletta." Nicoletta answered, holding out her hand. Harry hesitated for a moment when he saw the black glove she wore. The main body was made of thinly cut dragon hide, and there were small cables running from a thin casing along the underside, connecting to pea-sized nubs on the pads of her fingers and a Shilling-sized circle in the palm of her hand. Nicoletta clearly picked up on his hesitation and skeptical gaze.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout this. It won't hurt'cha unless I cast a spell at you." Nicoletta reassured him, but removed it nonetheless. Only afterwards did Harry shake her hand.

"Harry Potter," he likewise introduced himself. When he expected a gasp and immediate gushing, he was pleasantly surprised when Nicoletta simply raised one of her thin eyebrows.

"So you're the one everyone and their brother's makin' noise about. Nice to finally meet ya." She said with another half smile. Harry couldn't help but return it.

"You don't seem all that thrilled to meet me." He noted aloud. "Not that I'm complaining," he added quickly. Nicoletta shrugged.

"Figured what with all the hype everyone else has goin' on, you got enough problems without the exchange students kissin' your ass." Nicoletta explained dismissively as she reached into one of her inner suit pockets. "You thirsty, Harry?" she asked as she pulled down the folding table that came in every compartment.

"Um, a little." Harry answered. Nicoletta nodded as she continued to frisk around in her inside suit pocket. It took her a few seconds, but she finally pulled out a pair of snifters, and soon after, a good-sized bottle of Muggle Cognac. Nicoletta quickly popped the glass cap off the bottle and poured a decent amount of amber liquid into both the glasses.

"Um, Nicoletta, should we really be…"

"There's no rule against drinkin' on the train Harry." Nicoletta overrode him gently, handing him a glass, which he took after a second of thinking. Nicoletta sat back in her seat after placing the Cognac on the table and took a sip. Harry sniffed the strong drink and hesitantly raised the glass to his lips. For some reason, his lack of drinking experience made him feel unsettled in front of a girl who was clearly no slouch when it came to her tastes in alcohol. He sipped a small amount of the drink and winced as it burned his throat on the way down. Nicoletta grinned a little bit.

"Don't drink a lot?" She asked, raising the glass to her lips and taking another swig.

"Ugh! Not really. My experience's mostly limited to Butterbeer." Harry admitted. Nicoletta sniggered just a little bit.

"Pussy drink." She snorted, seemingly not caring about tossing swears and insults around. Harry said nothing and took another sip of his Cognac.

"So Nicoletta, what made you decide to transfer to Hogwarts, if you don't mind me asking?" Harry opened up another conversation after his next sip. Nicoletta took a pull on her glass before setting it down on the table.

"Well, _padre_ is tryin' to expand the family business and figured that Britain might be a good place to go to. That being said, we got a place in London and started nosin' around for business opportunities." She replied. Harry gave a small nod and took another sip of his drink; it was starting to burn a little less, and his stomach felt pleasantly warm.

"What kind of business?" Harry asked before he could stop himself; he really wanted to know where Nicoletta got the money for a suit and hooch like she had.

"He deals in technology and security, both wards and personnel, Mundane and magical. Just finished a prototype ward that lets simple electronics work in a magic area actually, so the whole company's real excited 'bout that." Nicoletta explained. _'Hermione is gonna go mad when she hears about this.'_ Harry thought.

"What kind of simple electronics?" He asked after taking another drink from his nearly empty snifter.

"Anythin' more complex than a radio and you got a problem. Like I said, s'just a prototype." Nicoletta answered. For some reason, thinking about Nicoletta's father's business dealing with technology brought an image of the dragon hide glove she wore to the forefront of his mind.

"What was that glove you were wearing? One of your father's products?" Harry asked. Nicoletta cocked an eyebrow sharply.

"What are you, a reporter?" she teased. Harry had the decency to blush. "I'm just yankin' ya. No, I got it from a little place just outside Madrigal del Monte in Spain. Probably would've been cheaper to give the guy my goddamn firstborn than the cash he asked for. It's called a Focus Gauntlet; FG for short." She picked it up and held it out to him. The glove was surprisingly smooth for looking so rough.

"What does it do?" Harry asked as he returned it to the Italian.

"With any luck, this baby'll replace wands in a couple decades. Works pretty much the same way, just point, incant and watch the show. For example, _repelo _(Lit. 'Fill up again')!" Nicoletta pointed at her snifter, which had only a few drops of brandy left in it, and the glass was immediately half full of the fine spirit. "Refill?" she asked. Harry shook his head. "Suit yourself," she shrugged and took another drink.

"Anything else you wanna know?" she asked. Harry became thoughtful for a moment.

"What part of Italy are you from?" He finally asked.

"I was born in Napoli. When I was four, _padre e madre_ packed us up and moved to America. New York specifically, which 'splain's my muddled accent." Nicoletta offered. Harry, not knowing the difference between an Italian and a New Yorker accent, simply nodded.

"Our business really picked up there with the help of a couple Technomages, and when I was eleven we moved to Firenze so I could attend-"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on a tic. What's a Technomage?" Harry interrupted quickly.

"Witches an' wizards who combine magic with Mundane technology. Most of em' you find in the American military, but a few high end businesses and organizations employ em' as security." Nicoletta elaborated. Harry was still confused.

"Isn't that a breach of the Statute of Secrecy? Like, on a colossal scale?" He asked. Nicoletta blinked at him for a moment before her eyes displayed a dawning comprehension of something.

"Sometimes I forget how closed-off you Brits are from the rest o' the world. The Statute of Secrecy hasn't applied to the States for almost fifty years, not since the magicals involved in the success of the Manhattan Project went public in '48." Nicoletta told him. Harry's mouth opened a little bit.

"You're saying that magicals helped create nuclear weapons?" He gasped, and was treated to the details- some of which he was pretty sure were classified- of how magic aided in the creation of the most powerful weapon known to man, and the subsequent revelation of the magical faction in the United States.

"Wow… that's all I can say, just wow." Harry murmured, still dazed by the story Nicoletta had told him.

"I pretty much said the same thing." The Italian witch agreed, draining her snifter and reaching into her suit jacket. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked as she pulled out a good-sized box (_'Her pockets must be expanded,'_ Harry thought), opened it and pulled out a large, light brown cigar. She didn't wait for him to say if he minded or not.

"A cigar?" Harry asked; he had fully been expecting her to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Maybe a pipe.

"Hell yeah! Cigarettes are nasty shit; they have fuckin' formaldehyde in 'em! That shit's used to preserve dead bodies, an' that's just _one_ of the chemicals they put in there!" Nicoletta spat vehemently as she cut off the rounded end of the cigar, poked a small hole clean through it and stuck it into her mouth. She flicked the thumb enclosed in the Focus Gauntlet, and a small flame burst from the nub. Nicoletta rotated and lit the end of the cigar before taking a long pull and exhaling a thin cloud of smoke. Harry had to admit, the tobacco didn't smell half bad.

"Want one?" Nicoletta asked, holding a stogie towards him. Harry hesitated again. Nicoletta noticed.

"Cigars ain't that bad for you, Harry. You only risk throat cancer if you smoke em' constantly, and you can't get addicted to them. Plus, these ones leave a nice taste in your mouth afterwards, and they're only good for a couple more months. I won't be able to go through all of em', and you look like a guy who's needed to say 'Fuck you, conformity' for a couple years now. So whaddaya say?" Nicoletta ended her spiel, which believe it or not, had made sense.

"What the hell," Harry shrugged as he plucked the smoke from Nicoletta's hand and used a charm to poke a small hole through the tightly wrapped tobacco.

"There ya go!" She grinned, lighting her finger again to start up his cigar. "You ever smoke before?"

"No."

"Okay then, with a cigar, you don't inhale the smoke. Just take it into your mouth, hold it for a few seconds and then release." Nicoletta instructed, demonstrating for his benefit. Harry slowly took the cigar between his teeth and inhaled gently. When barely any smoke entered his mouth, he began to pull harder. His second attempt worked better than his first as the smoke rushed back into his throat. He removed the cigar and held his breath. A few seconds later, he released a small cloud of smoke, leaving a not unpleasant taste in his mouth. Nicoletta was staring at him again.

"Not bad for your first pull. Burned myself when I had my first cigar." She chuckled half-heartedly and took another pull. "But enough about me. Care to tell me a little bit about yourself?"

* * *

><p>Over the next twenty or so minutes, Harry told Nicoletta Scaletta a few stories of his life. He tried to downplay some of his school adventures and shied away from where he spent the summer. He didn't say it, but he was grateful when she didn't press him for details. She would stop him every once in a while to ask him to clarify something he said, but didn't push if he refused information. She would toss a few zingers in there to lighten the mood, and Harry laughed at every one of them. He had just finished telling her a choppy version of the Ministry battle the previous year when the door opened.<p>

"Hey Harry, we've-" Ron cut himself off when he noticed the girl dressed in the expensive suit sitting opposite his friend, holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a half-finished cigar in the other, surrounded by a fug of smoke. Hermione picked up where Ron's words failed.

"Harry James Potter, are you _drinking and smoking_?" Hermione's voice rose significantly when she saw the drink and the smoke Harry was holding. Harry was about to hesitantly explain his reasons when something Nicoletta said came back to him:

"… _you look like a guy who's needed to say 'Fuck you, conformity' for a couple years now."_ With those words in mind, Harry raised his calm gaze to his female friend.

"Yes, Hermione Jean Granger, as a matter of fact I am. Is there a problem with having a vice every now and then?" Nicoletta grinned and raised her glass to him just a little bit. Hermione looked completely taken aback by his boldness.

"I… Smoking's bad for you!" Hermione finally scolded. As if in defiance, Harry took a pull on his cigar.

"There are no nasty chemicals in cigars Hermione and you only run the risk of throat cancer if you smoke them constantly. This one is my first, so I'm good." Harry explained as smoke oozed out of his mouth. "And, given what I've been through, I think I'm entitled to a little self-indulgence." He added as an afterthought. Hermione did not look happy as she followed Ron and sat down beside him.

"Who's she?" Ron asked, pointing at the Italian transfer student.

"Nicoletta Scaletta, transfer from the _Il Collegio Magico di Firenze_." Nicoletta introduced herself. Whether she liked it or not, Hermione immediately began to consider the girl friend material, if only for the wealth of knowledge she could provide.

* * *

><p>"Where's Sally-Anne?" Hermione asked Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown as she entered their dorm. She had just finished herding the firsties up to the room with Ron, and had developed a small eye tic because of the unusual rowdiness of this year's batch.<p>

"Her parents withdrew her." Lavender said simply. Hermione stared for a moment before blinking and regaining focus.

"Okay… Well, who's our new dorm mate?" she asked. On cue, the door opened.

"That would be me," said Nicoletta Scaletta, her high heels oddly quiet as she entered the dorm. It had been quite a surprise, seeing the sixteen-year-old girl walking behind the group of firsties. She wore only the outer robe as well, her Giorgio Armani suit standing out quite nicely. Most of the tables had erupted into whispers, although a couple nasty comments came from the Slytherin table. Nicoletta had waited until after McGonagall had finished her Sorting spiel to reach into her pocket and pull out a makeup kit to pass the time. Despite her surname beginning with an 'S', Nicoletta was not called to be Sorted until after all the firsties and Dumbledore gave her an introduction and a welcome. Nicola had sat under the hat for almost three minutes before it had shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Oh, hi Nicoletta." Hermione greeted with a smile. Nicoletta gave the bushy-haired girl a nod and quickly proceeded to peel off her pinstripe suit.

"How much did that suit cost you?" Parvati asked. "It's a very nice suit."

"_Grazie_," Nicoletta thanked her. "Hmm…" She looked up into the air, pondering. "'Bout seven million Lire." She answered. All three of the girls gasped.

"That's one expensive suit!" Lavender exclaimed. Parvati nodded her agreement.

"Magical Italy still uses the Lira?" she asked with a raised brow. Nicoletta nodded.

"All the magic parts of the countries in the European Union use the type o' money they had before the Euro came into play; 'cept Britain, that is." Nicoletta smirked a little. Hermione's face was scrunched up as calculations ran through her head.

"What are you thinking about, Hermione?" Parvati asked. Hermione didn't respond for a moment.

"So… seven million Lire would be about two hundred and twenty Galleons?" She asked. Nicoletta nodded as she finished unbuttoning her shirt and started to slide her skirt off. Parvati, Lavender and Hermione tried not to take notice of the Italian witch's silky black underwear as she pulled off her bra and slipped on a set of pyjamas. Without another word, Nicoletta jumped into bed and pulled the curtains closed.

Just as she was about to get into bed herself, Hermione noticed something rolling along the floor and under Nicoletta's bed. She frowned; for a second, she could have sworn it was in the shape of a bullet…

"Couldn't be," she mumbled and extinguished her light.

* * *

><p><strong>And that's the revised Chapter 2. Please...<strong>

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this teaser**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this teaser**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this teaser**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Peace,**

**Dirty Reid**


	3. Multiplicity

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 3: Multiplicity**

**A.N.: There was a pretty sad reception to chapter two. I guess it's because the plot revolves around an OC I've wanted to write about for a while. Since some of you were confused and that teaser probably won't grow to be a true fic, I'll eventually post a dossier on Nicola on my profile to clear up a few things about her and the story idea in general.**

* * *

><p>"Thank you all for coming so quickly," Harry addressed the entirety of Dumbledore's Army. Though he was attempting to be civil and welcoming, the bleary or irritated looks from his legion- <em>students<em>, students! -still set him on edge.

"I hope you have a good reason for this Potter," Michael Corner groused. "Most rational people would wait for a decent hour to tell us something, no matter how important it is."

"Shut up Michael," Ginny reprimanded her boyfriend (read: Boy-Toy) quietly. "But I do agree with him for now. What is it, Harry?" she asked.

Harry took a deep breath. His last seven days had been like riding an express elevator to the bottom of Hell and not stopping, instead rocketing him back up to the heavens. So many puzzles surrounding his life had either received large pieces, or become complete. Quite frankly, it made him so mad at Dumbledore- who was always a central figure- that he was impressed with his ability to restrain his anger, lest he go on a rampage.

"Well, it's all very hard for even me to comprehend, so I'll just start at the beginning:

When I was just a year old, Voldemort tried to kill me. Ever since I learned that fact four years ago, I've never been able to figure out why. But when I battled him in the graveyard last year, something happened. When our wands, which share the same cores," there were appropriate gasps and mutters here, "connected in something called the _Priori Incantatem_ effect, shades of a lot of the people Voldemort had killed appeared. A few notables were Cedric and my parents." He paused to let the DA get their reactions out, and catch his breath.

"They spoke to me. They called the Portkey to me, and said that I shouldn't doubt my ability. But they told me something else; something I wasn't sure I understood. They told me 'don't hesitate… any of you.' Before I got out of there." Harry paused again.

"You seem to have gotten a little off topic there, Harry." Katie Bell slurred to him. Harry noted that her nipples were quite visible against her thin shirt, and hoped desperately that his appreciation of the view wouldn't become apparent. _'Damn that jarhead and his corrupting influence! 'Comedian' my ass!'_

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there." Harry waved off her statement. "I thought about it for a while, and I thought that it meant my friends and me. I wasn't sure, so I kept thinking about it. That's part of why I've been a little less than cordial this year."

"You sure it isn't the press?" Ron asked.

"Well, that's part of it too, but not so much. The other big part is this… I don't know how else to explain it, this _pull _in the back of my mind. It has nothing to do with Voldemort, but I didn't know who or what it could possibly be. It's been driving me batty, and up until a week ago, I had no idea what it was. When I found out, I also learned why Voldemort wants me dead so bad." Harry stopped to allow his sleep-addled fellows to digest what he had just told them.

"Well? Are you gonna tell us?" Hermione asked irritably, even for her. Harry, still rattled by this news, took a shaky breath.

"It's because of a prophecy," and here he recited the words that had been spoken by Sybil Trelawney on that night sixteen years ago. By the end of it, everyone was stunned into silence. Unable to take it anymore, Hermione tackled Harry into a firm hug, which he returned once he got some air back in his lungs. All three Gryffindor Chasers quickly joined her. For several moments, there was quiet.

"Any thoughts?" Harry asked after he removed the four incredibly attractive limpets.

"It does seem a little vague near the end…" Parvati Patil mused, stroking her chin in a cute 'thinking pose'. "'Neither can live while the other survives'… That could mean neither of you could live a normal life while the other's still alive… or maybe it means if one of you doesn't off the other, the universe will tear itself apart." She started to pace as people stared at her in shock, due to her insightfulness. "I wonder, could Harry and You-Know-Who finally answer the question of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? If the Avada Kedavra could be classified as…" She stopped her muttering when she noticed all eyes on her and her words. "What?" she asked.

"I think the question we must concern ourselves with is what this power is supposed to be." Ernie MacMillan proposed, rousing several nods.

"Wait, wait, wait, important question first!" Ginny overrode Ernie. She looked at Harry intently. "You never told us what that pull on your mind was, Harry." She said. "After you tell us that, you can tell us where you learned of the prophecy."

"Well Ginny, as it turns out, Ernie's and your questions are related. I learned the prophecy from the source of the pull, which is also what I think is the power Voldemort knows not." It was only now that the entire DA knew Harry was dragging the story along to amuse himself.

"Hurry up and tell us Harry, I'm starting to get pissed off," Lavender Brown growled. Harry gulped when she pulled her wand… from her silk shorts? _'Hot damn!'_

"I-"

"He learned the prophecy from us." A female voice came from nowhere; rousing the half-awake students just a little bit more. Harry turned to where the voice originated and gave a little nod. With a shimmer, an invisibility cloak was removed from the body of a girl of about eighteen years with lank, fiery-red hair. Her face was shaped like an upside-down egg; not heart-shaped but not ovoid either. A set of rectangular glasses sat on her nose. Her full lips were set in a line and her muddy brown eyes were kind, but held an underlying hardness characterized by one who had seen many battles or loved ones lost. She wore a Hogwarts robe with the red and gold of Gryffindor, but even it could not hide the fact that she was a waif. Those who knew what she looked like immediately became fully alert as they digested that they were staring at a flawed copy of…

"Lily Potter?" Fred spluttered. George was too flabbergasted to form a single word. 'Lily Potter' allowed her lips to quirk into a ghost of a grin.

"Close," she said. "Lily's my middle name. My full name is Rose Lily Potter." Rose Lily Potter introduced herself with a curtsey, showing off a little more milky leg than Harry really thought was necessary.

"… So, how are you the power You-Know-Who knows not? Are you Harry's long lost sister or something?" Neville asked, decidedly intrigued. Lily shook her head.

"Nope," she answered negatively. She raised one hand up and swept one of her bangs off to the side. What was revealed took a moment to register before the gravity of it set in: Rose Lily Potter bore a lightning bolt shaped scar on her forehead. It was paler than Harry's, but it was there.

"I guess the best way to describe me would be to say I'm this Harry's female analog." Rose shrugged. The less science-fiction-savvy students just got more confused.

"'Female analog'? What does that even mean?" Ron asked.

"Well Weasley, it goes something like this." Rose closed her eyes for a second and a blackboard appeared from nowhere. Not willing to be left out of an explanation by someone who was essentially him, Harry took a hold of the chalk.

"Let's say that this circle is our universe and everything in it." Harry began by drawing a large circle on the board and wrote 'Harry' inside it. "A lot of Muggle scientists have theories about parallel universes that exist right next to our own; they call it the Multiverse Theory." Here Harry drew another circle to the right of the first, and wrote 'Rose' in it.

"Rose's presence here proves that this theory is true; she's a version of me from a universe where- as she tells it- everyone in _this_ universe is of the opposite gender, unlike the rest." Harry elaborated. Hermione frowned.

"'The rest'?" she parroted. Harry nodded.

"I'm no the only surprise Harry here's had in the last week." Rose said. "Surprised me too, as a matter of fact."

"Who wouldn't be surprised to see me?" another unseen, much deeper voice asked. Rose rolled her eyes and Harry shook his head as the DA looked around for the source.

"I wasn't referring to you specifically, Jock-Strap." Rose snapped just before a shimmering mass dropped from the ceiling and landed on the floor with a loud _thunk_. A sound like crackling electricity permeated the air as the shimmering figure took on colour. It was tall- around 6'3"- and covered in some sort of suit of armour. Hugging its muscular body was a black body suit, overlaid in key places by the steel grey armour. Though they could not see it, a glowing blue cable ran the length of their spine and linked the pieces of armour together. That being said, the armour was unlike any seen throughout Hogwarts. The helmet was more of a mask, only covering the front of his head, but was still linked to the blue cable. Where the mask covered their forehead, a pair of snake-like eyes had been either decaled or painted on. The triangular visor was black, overlapped in the middle indicating it opened there, and had decals or paintings of needle-like teeth around the rims. The mask was painted (?) to look like the face of some freakish spectre. Their broad shoulders were covered by two circular pauldrons each emblazoned with a red lightning bolt. The cables connected to a chest plate molded into the shape of a pair of pectorals and abdominal muscles. The leg armor was unremarkable, save for the knee guards with the nasty looking spikes on them.

"Bloody hell," Dean Thomas muttered. "A cyborg!" Said 'cyborg' turned its head slightly to look at the black boy. With several clicks and a whir or two, the visor split into two and receded into the metal of the mask. The metal segments folded down and backwards to reveal the face of a human; the face of a much older Harry Potter.

"'Sup, fuckers? Colonel Harry 'The Comedian' Potter reporting for duty!" he proclaimed with a grin. Harry and Rose rolled their eyes.

"As you can see, here is part of what we mean by 'the rest'; this jarhead chucklefuck over here." Harry grunted. The older version simply grinned infuriatingly.

"Harry, language!" Hermione chided with a glare. The older Harry suddenly chuckled quietly.

"Forever a straight edge, eh Doc?" he shook his head with a short laugh.

"What? 'Doc'? What does that mean? What's wrong with being a straight edge?" she demanded slightly hysterically. The older Harry held up his hands.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there speed racer!" He placated her teasingly. "I guess I should explain a few things to you all:

"First off, I'm another version of your Harry Potter (He had no need to flip his hair, it was cropped so short). I however, hail from the future; 2246 to be precise." 'Future' Harry paused for the predictable reactions. "Now Hermione, I called you 'Doc' because…" He paused and turned one of his metal-cased hands palm up. A thin disc in the palm of his hand began to glow, and several beams of light coalesced into a photograph and many words. The image was one of an older Hermione with a scowl on her face. Below her image were several anecdotes…

NAME: Granger, Hermione Jean

BIRTH DATE: 09/19/2209 (Age 37)

BIRTH PLACE: Essex General Hospital, Essex, UK

HEIGHT/WEIGHT: 5'7"/119 lbs.

IQ: 171 [Genius Level]

FAMILY: Granger, Kevin Peter, DDS [Father (02/16/2185-Present (Age 61))]

Liddell-Granger, Alice Pleasance, DMD [Mother (07/02/2186-Present (Age 60))]

Boot, Terrence Ian, SqnLdr **(Squadron Leader)**, 4th Aerial Squad, TMMF* (04/21/2210-Present (Age 36)) [Former Husband (2239-2243)]

(Upon reading this anecdote, Hermione and Terry Boot looked at each other, blushed, and looked away.)

Boot, Logan Jeremy [Son (03/22/2240-Present (Age 6))]

EDUCATION: NEWT Examinations [Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, DADA, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Herbology, HoM, CoMC, Magical Law (Avg.: O)] (Achieved May, 2227)

MD [Human Biology/Biochemistry] (Achieved June 2233)

PhD [Genetic Engineering] (Achieved June 2233)

MSc [Neurological Cybernetics] (Achieved June 2236)

POSITION: Chief Scientist, Technomage Industries

NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENTS: Director of [CLASSIFIED]

Improved upon Artificial Intelligence development

Pioneer of Man to Machine Neural Linkage Project

* TMMF: Technomage Military Forces

"I… wow." Hermione managed. Colonel Harry nodded.

"Yeah. I should note that you aren't credited as the recipient of the Sheldon Cooper Lifetime Achievement Award as the highest achieving scholar of your generation." He added, making the bushy-haired girl's eyes sparkle.

"Do you know what Dr. Hermione's the director of?" Colin Creevey asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, the project that gave me this suit." He turned around once, allowing the DA to see the armour in its entirety.

"What is that suit exactly, by the way?" Dean Thomas asked. Harry seemed to be thinking for a moment, if the war of emotions parading across his face was any indication. Finally, after almost half a minute and a 'Couldn't hurt,' he answered.

"It's called a Combat Harness; Assault Permutation. CHAP for short. It's a magic-powered, semi-intelligent exoskeleton capable of multiple functions, including, but not limited to spell-casting, flight and active camouflage, as you witnessed before." He explained.

"_I _designed that suit? Why?" Hermione gaped.

"And a couple of its variants. Why? To give us an ace in the hole, because believe it or not, the Voldemort from my dimension was the cause of World War IV. If there was one thing Vladimir Makarov proved right, it was this: It doesn't take the most powerful nations on Earth to create the next global conflict; just the will of a single man." Harry's eyes fell, eliciting a concerned look from Rose and this universe's Harry, as they had never seen their Technomage analog in a down mood.

"And it was me who took him down, all thanks to your work. But despite a whole platoon of Technomages with these suits, the rank of Colonel and the support of His Majesty's army, I lost a lot of good men women and friends." For a moment, there was a somber silence.

"How and when did World War III start?" Angelina Johnson finally asked quietly. Even the purebloods had suffered through the Second World War, and were very intent on learning the why and how.

"It officially began in 2061, and was also the catalyst that caught magic Britain up with the rest of the world. For about twenty years prior, the Middle East had limited oil trading with the Western countries, and Canada's oil reserves couldn't produce oil quickly enough to provide for the countries in need. When the United Nations called a summit of world leaders to discuss the problem, a group of hired guns started shooting up the place, managing to kill quite a few big people. As it was later found out, those Al-Qaida bastards had gotten a lot sneakier and managed to plant agents in key points around the world, along with the help of a group of Chinese radicals. Those agents destroyed large population hubs in an attempt to subvert the larger, wealthier countries so they could get their hands on most of the world's natural resources. As expected, the world at large responded in kind. Once 2066 rolled around, the higher-ups gave the green light for the use of nuclear weapons. Within a week, the war was over due to most of its combatants being wiped out. At that time, Magical Britain was still stuck in the Middle Ages and was all but obliterated, save the First Generation witches and wizards, who had seen the writing on the wall and gotten the fuck out of there. When the smoke cleared, only about an eighth of the magic British population remained, the minority of it the kind that despised all things Mundane. Course, the small population and the Ministry in shambles left them vulnerable. One short, bloody revolution later, and the governing class is made up of First Generations. With new blood in power, you couldn't have told the difference between a magic and a Mundane home by the turn of the 22nd Century.

There were always the odd nuts who thought that we were throwing away our heritage by joining another culture, and people liked them about as much as pro-lifers. But right around 2230, the Big Bad himself managed to rally most of the Pureblood children left and start a guerrilla war, claiming that they would restore magical culture to its former glory. Seemed he'd been busy over the past thirty or so years, because he had attacks going all over the world. Field Marshal Dumbledore knew this was going to start World War IV, so he pushed Doc Hermione to come up with something that the Primitives- That's what we called them- didn't know how to counter. And believe me, they learned fast. Couple years later, she and the rest of Technomage Industries turn out these suits and start picking up members of the military for 'conditioning' to wear 'em. Two hundred of us went back into the war with these suits… but after we wiped out the Primitives, only twelve came back. Of all the World Wars, this one was the longest, but oddly enough, had the fewest casualties. You'd figure a war with a couple dozen small nukes would've wiped out the whole planet, eh?" Harry shook his head somberly before lowering his head and whispering 'In nomine patris,' Rose and this universe's Harry patted the hulking soldier's armoured shoulders, receiving an appreciative nod from the older analog.

"So that's what you dragged us out of bed for? To tell us a prophecy and introduce us to two versions of you from different universes?" Dennis Creevey asked. He was rather surprised when all three versions of Harry Potter displayed some sort of tell, signifying discomfort.

"Well, not exactly." This universe's Harry said slowly. "There's one more… but…"

"He's not exactly machismo, a total bombshell, or a selfless pussy." Colonel Harry finished.

"HEY!" This universe's Harry exclaimed. He was about to continue but someone cut him off.

"You wound me, Colonel." The voice was quiet, but for some reason, no member of the DA had ever felt so terrified in their entire lives. Were they to put a face to the voice, the consensus was divided between that of the Grim Reaper, or Beelzebub himself. Their fear was only magnified when the lights in the Room seemed to dim and the air went searing hot for less than half of a second. From behind the three Potter analogs, a blob began to crawl away from the shadow cast by a book case. It coalesced slowly, like molasses, into the shape of a human, eventually sharpening into the form of a young man in a black robe that seemed to be made of smoke. His gait was slow, but his strides were long. With every step echoing eerily, the DA's collective terror grew a notch. He slowly stopped behind the first three Potter analogs and raised his head.

Though clearly older by six or seven years and lacking glasses, his facial features were identical to this universe's Harry, from the wild mop of tar black hair down to the barely noticeable cleft in his chin. His skin though, was a shade paler. The tone of his skin only served to contrast even more with his eyes, which were completely bereft of sclera, leaving twin pools of an evil black abyss that were dead of any emotion.

This analog could- without much doubt- be described as Death manifested in the form of Harry Potter.

"W-what… who… who are you?" Alicia Spinnet stuttered, her voice reeking of fear. The horrific boy turned his head barely noticeably to focus attention on her.

"Me?" he asked in that same ghoulish whisper. "I am what happens when you sink to the level of your enemies on the road for vengeance." Naturally, exclamations ensued.

"Y-you went dark?" Hermione gasped. The sinister Harry slowly turned his head to the girl, who was clearly interpreting his statement the wrong way.

"Don't look at me that way Hermione. I said I did some of the things I did for the sake of vengeance…" He stopped for a moment and swallowed. Hermione received a small shock when a single tear leaked from one of his eyes. "And some of that vengeance was for you." He lowered his head and tears began to flow. Instantly regretful of her snap decision, Hermione hesitantly stepped forward. Colonel Harry, 'Original' Harry and Rose stepped aside so she could gently wrap the wraith up in a hug. He went stone still for an instant before desperately returning the embrace.

The only sounds for a moment more were the quiet crackle of the torches and the occasional stifled sob from the spectral Harry. Slowly, the dark analog retreated from the embrace, sniffled one more time and wiped his bloodshot eyes.

"Sorry," he managed to choke out, pointing at the wet spots on Hermione's nightgown. "But… out of all the people… Voldemort had murdered… it he only made me watch yours and my lover's." 'Dark' Harry lowered his head again and pushed his fists into his eyes.

"Who was your lover?" Ginny asked with no small glimmer of hope in her eyes. That went out faster than a camera flash when the dark analog said "Daphne Greengrass,"

"You took up with a slimy snake?" Ron snapped with consternation clear in his face. "Why didn't you check your food for potions?" He quailed pathetically when Harry's black eyes snapped up to him with anger of epic proportions swirling in them. A thunderclap could be heard through the thick stone walls.

"And _that attitude_, Ronald, is the reason I did not lose any sleep over your death." The wraith growled. "As if your jealousy wasn't enough, you seemed to take my dating Daphne as a personal attack for whatever reason." Harry had started to stalk forward. If one were to look at his strut, they might think he was drunk. But on closer inspection, one might see he was doing it on purpose to throw opponents off.

"And because you refused to believe I was with Daphne on my own free will- instead of with liberal use of the Imperius and potions- I broke our friendship. In the end, your inability to judge people without looking at the colours on their robes cost you your life when I was not there to save you from the Death Eaters." He finished, still in a whisper. As an addition to his outburst, he spat at Ron's feet. The ginger kid cringed as the saliva began to slowly eat at the rock.

"Whoa, hey, hey, hey! Let's everyone just cool off here!" Colonel Harry stepped between Ron and the almost-revenant, holding his arms up against their chests. 'Evil' Harry's eyes continued to smolder for a moment before they dimmed like a dying light.

"Thank you Colonel," he said with a small nod. "I apologize for my outburst, but Ronald's unchanged behaviour, as well as seeing so many faces alive again has left my emotions… tumultuous, to say the least."

"Don't mention it, Shady." The wraith threw him a dirty glance, which he ignored.

"Now that we've all calmed down and been introduced, I'd like to draw attention to what the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' is." 'Original' Harry spoke up, instantly gaining the focus of his legion.

"It seems that every one of us had a different power." Rose stated. "For me, it was the ability to draw upon the mana of those whom I loved as family, or the one I loved in the more traditional sense." She had started to pace, mostly to hide the small bloom.

"I still can't offer a concrete conclusion, but my theory is this; because of the bond that the borrowed mana was channeled through, and because it was something he had never experienced in his entire life, Voldemort was… somehow less able to defend against my attacks. I retained the ability to burn him with my touch, which is how I killed him in the end, after Roma, Henry and I destroyed his Horcruxes."

"Who are Roma and Henry? And what are Horcruxes?" Hermione asked.

"Roma Weasley and Henry Granger are Ron and your alternate gender analogs." Rose answered. "Horcruxes… nasty little pieces of work. For you Muggleborns out there, you know what a Lich is? Same basic principle." A few 'Ohhh!'s of understanding went up from those Muggleborns who had played _Dungeons and Dragons _or other similar works of 'fantasy'.

"Another way of looking at it is the connection between Sauron and the One Ring." Hermione, the Creevey brothers, Justin Finch-Fletchley and -surprisingly- Luna Lovegood all made noises of comprehension. "For those of you still a little lost, a Horcrux- or phylactery, if you've seen that term- is an object that has a part of your soul imbued into it. But to do so, you have to murder a person in cold blood after performing a pretty complex ritual beforehand… and that's all I know, because I didn't have enough cash to bribe that demon, and I sure as hell wasn't about to 'persuade' him." Rose shuddered.

"You actually went to a _demon_ for help?" Ginny exclaimed, beginning to question Rose's sanity.

"War makes people do crazy things kiddo; a healthy amount of desperation doesn't hurt either." She said simply.

"So You-Know-Who-" 'Evil' Harry rolled his eyes at Ron's cowardice "Made one of these… Hor-thingies, and that's why he didn't die?" He summarized.

"In a nutshell, yes. Couple things though: He didn't make one Horcrux; he made seven." Rose paused to let the DA react. "Fortunately though, unknowingly at the time, Harry here has already gotten rid of one of them."

"What was it?" Ginny asked.

"The diary," Harry answered. Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth; clearly the trauma of her first year was still parading around in her psyche.

"That reminds me," 'Dark' Harry spoke up "Colonel; would you cast a Numbing Charm on Harry? I'm going to get rid of that fragment in his head." The casual way he said it made 'Original' Harry wince.

"Harry? What is he talking about?" Hermione asked nervously. Harry sighed.

"'Dark' Harry here told me that the reason I've been so vulnerable to Voldemort's Legilimency, as well as being able to feel when he's near, is a result of the failed AK on Halloween of '81. The protections my mother gave me somehow reflected the curse, but at the same time pulled a tiny piece of Voldemort's soul into me." Harry explained.

"And now we're going to remove it." Colonel Harry finished before he pointed his finger at Harry and muttered the incantation for a Numbing Charm. 'Original' Harry swayed suddenly, and it was only Rose catching him that saved him from falling to the floor. 'Dark' Harry held up two fingers on his right hand.

"This will fell a little odd." He stated before incanting "_Emag eht t'sol t'suj uoy!_" **(1) **His extended fingers caught fire and no one had time to react before he thrust them forward… straight into Harry's forehead.

"Urgh!" Harry grunted, before "HRRAAAAAAGH!" His body started to convulse as smoke shot out his ears and mouth. 'Dark' Harry remained still for a moment before yanking his fingers back, allowing a spurt of a thick black ichor to be released form Harry's head. As he fell to his knees and gasped in pain, a faint scream was heard echoing through the room.

"… What was that?" Hannah Abbott whimpered.

"That," Harry gasped from his hands and knees "is what happens when a Horcrux is destroyed, or in this case, exorcised." He shakily got to his feet and turned around, revealing a pair of cuts which healed quickly.

"Um, curiosity rising up again, but what language was that spell in?" Hermione asked. 'Dark' Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. But for some reason, every time I think of it, I get annoyed and want to start swearing."

"Moving on," Colonel Harry continued where Rose had left off. "My power the dark lord knew not was probably the most simple; I became a genetically-augmented supersoldier, and I had access to tech he didn't know how to counter so I was able to gun him down with every bit of firepower I could muster. Of course, I had my genius best friend to thank for that." The Technomage sent a grin Hermione's way.

"Oi! I thought I was your best mate?" Ron exclaimed. The Colonel turned to look at him and quickly adopted a look of thoughtfulness.

"Sorry, do I… Oh yeah, now I remember you! Ensign Weasley, 3rd Aerial Squad; thought you were a real hot-shot, but let your arrogance get the better of you. Second skirmish with the snake-fucker's boys, you got shot down." He stated, not noticing or ignoring the subtle motions of 'Original' Harry and Hermione to stop. He seemed to ignore Ron's face turning red until he stormed out of the room.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Colonel Harry asked.

"He's… got issues. Let's just leave it at that." 'Original' Harry explained. "Harry?" He addressed his darker counterpart. The wraith was silent for a moment.

"In short, I had nothing to lose." He stopped to take a deep breath. Clearly his story was emotionally trying.

"Every last piece of blame for the course of the war can be laid at the feet of Albus Dumbledore; ever when it is needed most, he refuses to give up information without stringing you along until it's almost too late. He could have just _told_ me that Voldemort was using Horcruxes, but he had to make me suffer through memories of Voldemort as a child. By the time he actually got around to telling me about them, Draco Malfoy had repaired the Vanishing Cabinet locked in a different part of this room and was able to lead an assault on Hogwarts. We lost Dumbledore that night, and that's when things started to go Reach-like." He received blank looks at his comparison. "Long story short, I was bored one day and decided to use a charm I found to jump to the future. Halo: Reach is the last Halo game Bungie develops and will be released in 2010; ties up all the loose ends the trilogy left.

"Anyway, even when we needed it, Dumbledore wouldn't give Daphne, Hermione and me any information straight up, instead he had to give us a will full of obscure riddles. By the time we figured out what they meant and destroyed a few, it was too… too late…" 'Dark' Harry was starting to lose his composure.

"Some of Voldemort's boys found us. They'd- they'd been looking for us for a while, and the Big Guy was starting to get impatient. When we were finally caught… he really wanted me to suffer. So…" he stopped to swipe at his eyes. Rose gently grasped his shoulder as a gesture of comfort to her darker, male analog.

"That fucker- that absolute _fucker-_ m-made me watch as his… his Death Eaters r-raped Hermione and Daphne." He placed his head in his palms and began to cry openly. After that shocking revelation, everyone in the room was feeling less apprehensive and more understanding of why the weeping analog had become what he was. Hermione covered her mouth in shock.

"Every single one of them… got a go at you two. I won't go into details because s-some of my magic is tied to my emotions, and like- like I said, they've been out of control (gulp). When they were finished… F-Fenrir Greyback- the worst lycan in Britain- that sick fuck made me watch as… as…" He stopped to release a choked sob. The stone where his tears had stained them were starting to steam.

"He made me w-w-watch him… _eat_ you two _alive_." He dissolved into silent tears as Hermione went from white to a pale mint. Rose had wrapped her arms around him, and a few of the other girls eventually moved in to offer their comfort to the grieving young man. Even Cho Chang- viewed as a co-conspirator of treason- offered him an extremely quick, extremely awkward one-armed hug. It was almost five minutes later when 'Dark' Harry composed himself.

"All I wanted then was to get away from them, and _that's_ when the accidental magic kicked in enough for me to power through the wards around their bunker. I didn't draw a sober breath for the next month. That was how long it took me to get over my grief and realize that I'd let the Headmaster delude me into thinking I could win the war with Stunners and Body Binds. Once I'd sobered up, I started looking for any and every book I could find that had anything to do with Power Magnification Rituals, affiliation be damned. Of course, I tried to shy away from the ones that required human sacrifice, but if one in particular demanded use, it wasn't too hard to find Voldemort's supporters, there were so many of them." He stopped for a moment, ignoring the looks of fear when he implied that he had no problem sacrificing people for power, even if they were against him.

"It took about seventeen months, but I eventually destroyed the rest of his Horcruxes, made myself invulnerable to Legilimency, magnified my power roughly nine times, sharpened my control enough that I didn't need a wand anymore, and learned and studied everything I could about the Dark Arts so I could at least know what spells the Death Eaters would use against me… I can see some of you are looking a little repulsed at my attitude, so I guess I should mention that I never foresaw myself being pulled into a dimension where, for all intents and purposes, anyone who even _thinks_ of killing someone else is considered Dark. I should also add that a side effect of one or two of the rituals was a looser moral compass. On a good day, I can call myself a sociopath.

"But enough about that. I didn't bother starting small after I had recovered enough from the rituals. I just went off and murdered whichever minion or supporter I happened across in the most gruesome way I could. The power probably left me sicker in the head near the beginning, because I took quite a bit of pleasure in cutting Greyback up with a butcher knife after I found him. Leaving what was left of him hanging from a post in Knockturn Alley got the Big Guy's attention pretty fast, and I even left him a nice trail of bread crumbs to follow." He stopped to grin creepily. "None of the boot-lickers he sent after me made it back. Well, that's not strictly true, their severed heads made it back to him. Once he stopped sending flunkies after me- but not soon enough for me to learn where his piss-soaked coward corner was- I went and stormed his hideout, and told him I was there to murder him. Heh, I admit that I got quite a bit of satisfaction, seeing the fear in his eyes after I started a localized lightning storm. He didn't waste any time and tried to end the fight quickly; I felt like making him pay, so I didn't let him do what he wanted. But even though I'd magnified my power and sharpened my control, He still had something I didn't; forty years of fighting experience, not to mention I was still getting the hang of some of my new powers. In the end though, brute force and a couple tricks with spells taught in the first few years of Hogwarts let me slow Voldemort down enough to temporarily incapacitate him long enough to kill the rest of his Eaters." 'Dark' Harry trailed off for a moment.

"And you killed him after that?" Seamus Finnegan prompted.

"No," 'Dark' Harry answered to the confusion of his audience. "Truth be told, my prophecy still hasn't been fulfilled. The bit in my head is still there. Oh I beat him, there's no doubt about that, he's just not dead… though I suspect he wishes for death presently." He elaborated, tapping his forehead.

"So, he's in a prison?" Padma Patil asked.

"No. His magic is suppressed to the point that he is essentially a Squib, and he's currently nailed to a cross on top of a Gubrathian bonfire atop Everest, and- because of his regenerative abilities- has daily evisceration at the claws of a Titan Eagle to look forward to. Christian-Promethean Treatment, I call it." 'Dark' Harry allowed himself a small chuckle, scaring his audience once again.

"Because his last anchor is tied to me, he was to suffer until I passed from this world. I'm unsure whether or not that is the case now, what with my being in another universe and all, but if not, then at least he suffered endlessly for five years." 'Dark' Harry frowned minutely. "Hope the Big Guy in the red suit's just as nasty as I am."

"ANYWAY," Rose stopped 'Dark' Harry's mutterings, "Just a recap of our 'special powers': I was able to draw upon the energy of my loved ones," She stated.

"I had a suit of kick-ass armour," Colonel Harry added.

"And I had nothing to lose." 'Dark' Harry finished.

"My power, like Dark's, isn't so much a power: It's the knowledge, experience and power of four Potters against Voldemort." Harry explained his 'power'.

"So this war should end faster than expected?" Hermione asked. "Are you three going to tell-"

"Fuck no, we're not telling the Order." Rose interrupted vehemently. "If there's one thing I've learned in the few months I've been here, it's this: If something doesn't happen the way Dumbledore wants it to, he'll screw it up in the name of his self-defined 'Greater Good' so he can do it his way. No, we're keeping this low-profile."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Cho asked timidly.

"For the moment, nothing. Although if Dumbledore returns or Snape tries to question you for whatever reason, don't look them in the eyes, as both will attempt to use Legilimency to force this meeting from your mind. That being said, this gathering _never _happened. Until I call you on your Galleons, the Resistance… that's us. After learning that he hid my heritage from me, I refuse to give Dumbledore an iota of respect. Anyway, until I call you, the Resistance is 'officially' disbanded. If Rose, Dark and Colonel Harry are accurate, they should have secured the rest of the Horcruxes and my birthright within one to two months." 'Original' Harry stated.

"What happens then?" Susan Bones asked. All four Potters grinned.

"We finish this fight." 'Dark' Harry growled.

* * *

><p><strong>One months and twenty-eight days later…<strong>

Severus Snape stormed through the dungeons of Hogwarts, desperately needing a drink. Two hours of attempting to teach dunderheads the wondrous art of potions continued to tax his nerves to their very limits. He flung open the door to his office, robe billowing, thinking that a large glass of Ogden's would be quite nice at the moment, when something made him stop:

Harry Potter, sans glasses, was sitting at his desk, feet upon the near black wood, with an open bottle of Ogden's in his hand and a large cigar between his teeth. There was something off about him, besides the fact that he knew Potter probably didn't know how to pour a glass, much less smoke. What it was however, was lost as rage consumed him as he processed that Potter had invaded his territory.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my office Potter?" he snarled, hand drifting for his wand. Potter said nothing, opting to pull his cigar out and blow a cloud of smoke.

"Afternoon to you too, Severus. Sit down." Potter didn't look at him, but jerked his left index finger. Snape felt his body begin to move against his will, and though he resisted, he jerkily sat down in the chair before his desk and was unable to do anything about it.

"What have you done to me Potter? I'll have you-"

"That's enough, slave." Potter overrode him, causing Snape to silence. Though Potter spoke at a normal volume, a previously absent power that not even Voldemort possessed thrummed through his voice. It was rather intimidating.

"I'm here to send you on an errand, slave. You're going to go to your master… don't look at me that way slave, you and I know perfectly well which of the two tables your chips have always been on. You're going to go to your master, and you're going to kill his pet… _quietly_. Then you're going to tell that yellow-bellied, Big-Bad wannabe to meet me by the Shrieking Shack in three days at noon. Tell him if he isn't there when I tell him to be, that no power on this Earth will stop me from finding and murdering him in ways more grisly than he can imagine." Harry stopped to take a drink and a pull, still not looking at Snape.

"You really think I will bow to your demands, Potter?" Snape sneered. Harry finally turned to him, and Snape's heart skipped a beat: Potter's eyes were no longer the jade green of his lost love Lily, but the eternal black of the farthest reaches of hell.

"Do you honestly want me to answer that, given your current state, Severus? I could kill you with little effort and just find him myself, but that would just be a waste of a tool I want to use. However seeing as I can't have you revealing my plans to the Chess Master either…" The cigar floated out of his mouth and he brought his almost-fist up to his mouth. Snape heard Potter mutter "_Esroh a n'wo i!_" and blow a cloud of something with a peppery composition into his face.

At first, nothing happened. Snape was just beginning to think that whatever spell Potter had used failed until, again- against his will- he got up and turned to walk from the office. He attempted to resist again, until a searing pain flared up from within his body.

"Naught, naughty, slave. Resisting that curse isn't such a good idea." Potter scolded and with a wave of his hand, the pain was gone. "Try and resist, you bust a random artery. Nasty way to go, yes?" The grin on his face was infuriating, but Snape felt resistance when he attempted to spit a reply.

"Best be off, slave. Wouldn't want to keep your master waiting." Potter waved cheekily, and the last thing Snape saw before succumbing to the curse upon him was the infuriating Gryffindor taking another pull on his cigar.

* * *

><p>The deep breath before the plunge.<p>

A fairly accurate description of the current situation. 'Original' Harry stood adjacent to the Shrieking Shack, completely alone and nervously smoking one of the cigars that Colonel Harry kept on his person. Part of him wanted the Resistance here, but a bigger part told him that they were required at the castle for damage control if things went to hell. The past two weekends saw the Resistance pulling a three hour session both Saturdays and Sundays where Rose, the Colonel and 'Dark' Harry had given the students a couple more formidable spells which could be 'Used for fighting instead of pussying out and running away like scared little bitches.' To Harry's surprise, his fellows had picked up on them quickly. Then again, there was no greater motivator than fear.

Over the past six weeks, his older analogs had been in and out of the castle, using the fourth floor mirror passage as their bunker. Rose had set up a couple of wards that would keep them hidden, but not strong enough to be noticed by those more in tune with the ambient magic around the castle.

The first Horcrux they had found was Ravenclaw's diadem. As it turned out, the Room of Requirement was also known less so as 'The Room of Hidden Things' where a millennium's worth of things unwanted had slowly accrued. There looked to be things of such evil in that room that Harry was sure that some of them would make even Voldemort's skin crawl. The diadem was perched atop a stone statue and, without preamble, was destroyed by 'Dark' Harry. Three down, four to go.

Two days later, they returned from Voldemort's old home, Little Hangleton, with a ring that Rose claimed was the Resurrection Stone as given to one of the three Peverell Brothers by Death himself. Harry was in awe when he learned that his invisibility cloak was the first of its kind, one of the three Deathly Hallows, as the items were called, and relieved when Colonel Harry removed a charm that allowed Dumbledore to see through it.

"If you can somehow get Dumbledore's wand (the Elder Wand), you'll have the three Deathly Hallows, and should become a lot stronger as a result." He said. While tempting, Harry didn't think that he would be able to defeat Dumbledore. 'Dark' Harry smirked.

"When did we ever say you would be doing it alone?" he asked.

With the ring purified, only three Horcruxes remained. One week later, Rose returned with a golden goblet that was neatly cleaved in two. Hufflepuff's golden goblet, she said. Two were left.

Three weeks later, 'Dark' Harry returned with a heavy golden locket that once belonged to Slytherin. "Getting into Grimmauld Place without being seen was not easy by any stretch," he groused. The task of destroying this Horcrux was relegated to 'Original' Harry. When he asked for a clue, 'Dark' Harry simply told him that 'What wouldn't work on us will work on a severed soul.' After a few minutes, the lightbulb lit up above Harry's head. He pointed his wand at the locket and incanted "_Avada Kedavra_!" A thin stream of sickly green light erupted from his wand and impacted the gaudy trinket, neatly splitting it in two and eliciting a scream as the soul fragment was obliterated. Only Voldemort's snake Nagini remained, and Snape was under 'Dark' Harry's command to destroy it. Just over forty-eight hours later, 'Dark' Harry paused, and slowly announced "Snape's dead. Mission accomplished."

"Now, all that's left is Voldemort himself." Rose had stated. "When you meet him by the Shrieking Shack, here's what we're going to do…"

Now here he was, waiting for the man- if he could be called that- he had evaded four times to show up in order to finish the fight. Right now, Harry really wished he had some liquor. He was about halfway through finishing his cigar when a plethora of cracks and pops signifying Apparition were heard. Harry turned about to see none other than Lord Voldemort, accompanied by about twelve Death Eaters, standing by the Shrieking Shack. Remembering Colonel and 'Dark' Harry's instructions on how to set up the fight, he grinned as he withdrew the cigar from his mouth.

"Hello Tom," Harry opened the conversation calmly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he lowered his cigar. Predictably, Voldemort twitched.

"Do not refer to me by that filthy name, Potter! I am Lord Voldemort!" the snake-like man snapped. Harry simply shook his head.

"You're a lot of things Tom… most of which aren't complimentary… but you are no lord; you're just a half-blood with delusions of entitlement."

"WHAT? YOU DARE!" Voldemort screeched, his wand jumping to his hand and crackling with power.

"Miserable whelp!" cried a female voice, whom Harry ignored.

"I couldn't dare much more if I tattooed the words to your ass, Tom. And even then, I would still be right, and you would still be delusional. Hell, your blood is even less pure than mine! Your father was a Muggle!" Though he did not show it, Harry was relentlessly stomping on his fear, which was growing by the word.

"Yeah, bet he didn't tell you that did he?" Harry asked the Death Eaters. "Father was a Muggle, mother was the Squib daughter of a disgraced family? That he was conceived only through-"

"_CRUCIO!_" Voldemort screamed, having heard too much and desperately wanting to limit the doubt Potter sowed amongst his followers… but the curse dissipated three feet from the boy.

"What have you done, Potter?" the snake man snarled. The infuriating half-smile on Harry's face did nothing to soothe it.

"Me? Well, I've done a lot of things, Tom." Harry started to pace leisurely, assured none of the Death Eaters would dare attempt to curse their Master's prey. "I defeated you four times," he started, extending one finger. "I realized that you are nothing more than an ugly copy of Adolf Hitler, a Muggle dictator who felt entitled in the ways you now mirror," he held up a second finger. Voldemort twitched angrily at being called an imitator, even worse an imitator of a Muggle. "I discovered _why_ my life was a living hell, and have taken steps to correct that," he held up a third finger, and paused rather dramatically.

"And finally," he drawled with an evil grin, "I uncovered your… secret." Harry almost laughed when Voldemort's eyes widened. "I have to hand it to you Tom, Horcruxes were a clever gambit. Not clever enough though, if a fifteen-year-old kid can figure out your secret." He snarked as Voldemort gained something almost resembling colour.

"Your death is going to be slow, Potter. Even if my anchors are gone, I am still more powerful than _you_." The snake man hissed. Harry's grin never left his face.

"True, you may be more powerful than _one_ Harry Potter…" he stopped as the intense look on Voldemort's face withered slightly.

"But how about two?" Rose Lily Potter shed her invisibility cloak and raised her wand. The 'Lord' and followers of darkness all looked at her in interest or surprise.

"Three," Colonel Harry added, deactivating his cloaking device and powering up his palm phasers. The Eaters and Voldemort actually looked intimidated by the hulking supersoldier as he closed his helmet to leave them staring at the demonic face decaled on it.

A black blob rose from the Colonel's shadow, spiraling about and quickly coalescing. Black clouds quickly filled the sky and a localized lightning storm rose to life as 'Dark' Harry clenched his pale fists. "Four," he growled as a bolt of lightning slashed across the sky. A couple of the Eaters took a hesitant step back as the soulless black eyes of the vengeful wraith that called itself Harry Potter glared at them, smoke rising from the burning grass by his feet.

Voldemort looked at the four Potters with bared teeth. "What is this magic, Potter?" he demanded. 'Original' Harry looked into the dark lord-wannabe's eyes and snorted.

"Ah, how can I refuse to answer a dead man's last question?" He asked more to himself. "This magic, Tom, is 'the power the dark lord knows not', which you would have known about, had you learned the entire prophecy that revolves around us. This magic is the knowledge and power of four Harry Potter analogs, brought to bear against you and your cattle." Harry paused to take a dramatic pull on his cigar. As he exhaled a long stream of smoke and flicked the cohiba away, he drew his wand and smiled that evil smile of his.

"Come on Tom," he said coldly, "let's finish this fight.

* * *

><p><strong>And there we have another chapter of 'The Teaser'! Like it? Hate it? Then please:<strong>

**Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**Tell me whether or not you'd like to see a full fic made out of this**

**-1- Spelling things backwards makes for a good spell, don't you think?**

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**LOL, you mad?**


	4. Warlock

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N: Hey people! Thanks for all your reviews on Chapter 3! Hope you enjoyed my twisted take on the 'Alternate Harry' plot, and a little bit of trolling on the side. If you know of any other good stories like Chapter 3, let me know, okay?**

**Chapter 4: Warlock**

* * *

><p>'<em>Another day, another round of bone-chilling, psyche-scarring memories.' <em>

This was the resigned thought of Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived; Triwizard Champion; former leader of the DA; jailbird.

The thin teenager now qualified as 'emaciated', having spent a month in the big house. His tar black hair now contained slivers of grey, and the skin around his sinking eyes was an ugly brownish-black. His nails were dirty and chipped from when his nightmares had him clawing at the wall, and many of his teeth had yellowed from lack of treatment.

The reason for his current situation? The DA's raid of the Hall of Prophecy. Even after being given evidence of Voldemort's return and seeing several of his followers attacking, Fudge couldn't be trusted to do anything right. Sure, he had exonerated Harry and Dumbledore for preaching about Voldemort's return, but in one last spiteful move, he had pressed Harry with several charges: Unlawful trespassing, destruction of Ministry property, and assault upon a Ministry official (Umbridge, who was also charged with the use of a Class 2 Controlled Object upon students, and formation of an illegal organization (The Inquisitorial Squad)).

The entire DA had spoke on his behalf, but because they didn't have gold to buy the trial, they inevitably lost it. Ron and Hermione had to be forcibly removed from the Wizengamot chamber after they leaped out of their seats and broke a few smirking purebloods' bones. Harry though, had quietly accepted the verdict, but upon asking if he had any parting words, had uttered ominously to the smug-looking Fudge:

"I swear on my parents' graves that you will pay for what you've done to me." the way in which he said it had the Aurors carting him off just a little bit faster and the fat former Minister shivering nervously.

Now here he was, almost two months later, slumped against the wall of his cell, only the thought of his innocence acting as his levee against the roaring waves of insanity that threatened to overtake him. They held strong for the first couple weeks or so, but now, the never-ending battering of the Dementors' influence began to wear them down. Within the last four days, Harry had begun hearing things; voices that weren't there. They sounded like his friends, saying terrible things to him. Saying things like his irresponsibility led to them being hurt and almost killed. Even worse, he'd hear the voices of his enemies. The cake of his visions was a night when Voldemort himself had been sitting in his cell, lecturing him on morality and justifying his actions unto Britain. While he had shaken his head and condemned his snake-faced nemesis, his darker side had chosen that moment to manifest on the other side of the cell. It stated that Voldemort wasn't so much evil, but Machiavellian in his approach to life (Though not in those exact words). From there, Harry had fallen into an argument with Voldemort and his dark side. The Aurors that happened to be passing stopped to listen to the interesting three-way argument about morality Harry was holding with himself. What the kid said- even imitating the voices of the other two participants- was oddly thought-provoking.

From then on, even more people had been making appearances in his cell. While Harry knew that they weren't there, it was a very small part of him that kept saying such. Within the last hour, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna had been into his cell, blaming him for their injuries, foregoing any modesty and baring themselves to show how the Death Eaters had cursed them.

Apparently pureblood wizards had never heard of razors. Who knew?

Worst of all though, was Sirius' visit, in which he outlined every reason Harry was responsible for his death. The teenage jailbird was left curled up in a ball and crying in agony as one of the only parental figures in his life essentially called him a 'hands-off murderer'. The visions stopped for a couple hours afterwards, the reason being Harry was too depressed to think about the other people in his life. It was on the dawn of a new month that the oddest vision he'd ever had presented itself.

Why was it the oddest? Because it wasn't a vision.

* * *

><p>Harry rose from a tumultuous sleep to the sound of a voice. It wasn't a familiar one, though. <em>'Great, someone else to torment me.'<em> he grumbled as he shakily raised himself up to look towards the bars of his cell. Warning bells started to go off when he noted the owner of the voice stood not outside the bars, but inside. An uncharacteristic warmth began to waft against him. Harry began to raise his head. The first thing he saw was a pair of highly polished shoes.

'_Looks like this one has dress sense,' _Harry noted. As he looked further up, the shoes transitioned into a set of dark purple, almost black dress pants. A matching suit jacket and a black shirt sat on top of the pants, a blood red tie providing a striking splash of colour. As he looked further up, Harry's confusion became one of wariness.

The man in the suit was powerful; Harry dared think that neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore held such an awe-inspiring or fear-inducing aura. His skin was as pasty white as Voldemort's, but he did not look as unnatural as the Dark Lord. Long, black hair fell just past his shoulder blades, and his face was angular. His chin and his long nose were quite pointed, and his grinning mouthful of teeth was straight and perfectly white. But his eyes… his eyes were flashing an eerie red that was making Harry's heart pound so loud that the ever present groan of the Dementors was drowned out for just a few sweet seconds.

For a moment more, there was silence.

"… I haven't seen you before," Harry slurred slowly. The man said nothing. "I didn't get you killed, did I?" At that, he chortled quietly.

"No, no you did not." He replied in a voice with an American accent smoother than a glass of well-aged scotch. If he had the energy, Harry would have raised an eyebrow.

"Then what are you here to lecture me about?" He asked. The man was silent for a moment.

"I'm not here to lecture you about anything, Harry James Potter," he answered slowly. "I'm here to offer you a way out." Silence reigned once again, this time broken by Harry's ragged laugh.

"Ha, ha, very funny. Listen mate, why don't you tell me what part of my mind you're from so I can try and argue with whatever you're going to say to me?." He snapped. The man in the suit grinned just a little bit wider as he shook his head.

"Oh, I'm very much real, Harry. And so is this…" He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. With an almost musical tinkle, Harry looked down as a porcelain plate appeared on his cell floor. Sitting on the plate was a large whole wheat sandwich stuffed with turkey, thick-sliced roast beef, and lettuce, tomatoes, Swiss cheese and mayonnaise. Beside the sandwich was a tall glass of milk. And boy, did it look good…

Hesitantly, Harry began to reach out for the sandwich, praying that this cruel trick his mind was playing on him lasted just a little longer. As his fingers closed the gap between him and the food, he was expecting to feel nothing but air, just like the other people who had offered him the keys to his cell or a tube of acid so he could burn his way out.

This time though, his dirty finger sank into the soft, warm bread. Before he could think about it, he had grabbed the sandwich with both hands and had taken a bite. The cool lettuce gave off a tang of freshness, complimented by the delicious juice that was squeezed out of the beef and the zest of the mayonnaise. He couldn't help it; he moaned softly at the pleasurable experience of real food sliding into his stomach.

The man in the suit watched with that same grin as Harry gobbled down the sandwich and quickly downed the glass of milk. As he licked his lip, his tongue unwashed, he raised his bespectacled eyes to the well-dressed man.

"… Okay, I guess you're not a hallucination," Harry admitted slowly, as though he were second-guessing himself. "So… what was it you were sating about a way out of here?" he asked. Having just eaten his first real piece of food in almost two months, Harry was slowly feeling his alertness coming back to him. He was also beginning to doubt that this man was as benign as the image he appeared to be creating.

"I meant quite simply what I said, Harry: I'm offering you a way out of this hellhole." The man repeated, his grin widening ever so slightly. Harry knew better than to simply accept what the man said; no one offered help with no strings attached.

"What's the catch?" he asked warily. His skin crawled when the man chuckled sinisterly.

"Seems you're not as dumb as a few other people made you out to be," Harry bristled at the faint insult, but chose to say nothing. "But yes, there is one condition to my granting you freedom. That condition is that you must compete in a contest." He answered. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of contest? A dueling contest or what?" Harry asked, wanting clarification before he said yes or no. The man chuckled again and shook his head. His hair danced about his head gracefully.

"Nothing so droll." He replied coolly. "My contest is what those you refer to as Muggles call a demolition derby. While similar, my contest is significantly more… explosive, shall we say." He grinned just a little bit wider. Harry though, was frowning. This contest sounded particularly hazardous to the health of any of the contestants. One of the last things he wanted was to get into more dangerous situations.

"Yeah, sorry, but I've had enough violence in my life. I think I'll take solitary confinement; at least this way I won't have to hurt anyone." Harry said with a shake of his head. The man didn't stop grinning.

"Should you win this contest, the prize is a single wish. Anything you want, regardless of whether it sounds feasible or not." He boasted. Skeptical again, Harry cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Were you to win Harry, you could wish for everyone in the world to not care about your fame; wish for Tom Riddle to drop dead for good; perhaps wish for those who wronged you to be punished? Hmm?" The man listed in a teasing voice, his eyes flashing eerily. Harry still wasn't entirely convinced.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." He stated flatly. For the first time, the man's grin dropped a notch. He must be getting irritated.

"Then how do you explain my being here without alerting the prison guards, being unaffected by the Dementors, and conjuring up food that won't disappear, unlike what you witches and wizards can do?" he asked calmly, but Harry could still hear the sliver of impatience in his voice. Now that he thought about it, the man did have a couple of points. As for this explosive contest, it sounded like something that the magic populace in general would have little interest in, that is, if they had ever heard of it at all. That brought up another few questions…

"If I were to enter this contest," Harry began unsurely "how many people would know?" the last thing he wanted was more negative publicity, the scorn of his friends and teachers even less.

"You, me, and the other contestants." The man answered, prompting a surprised look from the teenage jailbird. "You see, if everyone knew about my contest and its competitors, I'd have no end of desperate losers wanting in on the action. That's not to mention I'd have pigs from every country the contest's been held in so far up my ass that every time I open my mouth you'd hear sirens and see flashing lights." Harry couldn't help but laugh at the image the man painted.

"I guess you have a point." He admitted after he finished laughing. He spent the next few seconds thinking about what he would ask next. A problem quickly presented itself, and Harry voiced it.

"I don't have a license or know how to drive." He vocalized. The man didn't even blink.

"The license isn't important, and I can make you learn, no problem." He countered. His previous displays of power providing proof of that statement, Harry nodded, thinking again. Finally, after nothing else relative to the contest came to mind, he shakily began to rise to his feet.

"One last question before you get me out of here." Harry stated. The suited man nodded.

"What's your name?" the teenaged wizard asked. The man's smile became positively feral as he reached out and grasped Harry's arm. As the air began to warp about them from the waves of energy coming from the man, Harry heard a single word before they winked out of Azkaban:

"Calypso."

* * *

><p>'<em>I can't believe we're doing this.' <em>Harry's 'Light' side moaned as he stood on the corner of a suburban road somewhere in Liverpool in the dead of night. He was dressed in a set of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, covered by a plain white hoody to hide his face. For extra security, the man- Calypso, he called himself- had, in a surprising show of generosity, corrected Harry's vision to decrease the chance of him being recognized. He had felt weird ever since; it didn't feel the same without the familiar weight sitting on the bridge of his nose or on his ears.

'_It's bad enough that people saw us get tossed in prison, and will know we broke out, but now we have to add THIS to our rap sheet?'_ 'Light' cried exasperatedly. Harry shook his head to clear the image of a white-robed Harry Potter- complete with feathery wings, a harp and a halo- wailing about what they were about to do.

'_The plebeians already think we're a deranged criminal, and we all know that isn't likely to change anytime soon. Besides, we're throwing them off, remember? None of the pigs will think to connect their wizard-savior-turned-pariah to a scene like this.' _'Dark' shot back. He was again treated to the mental manifestation of the darker half of his psyche. This one wore a crisp black suit with a red tie that matched the little red horns poking out of his forehead and the spear-ended tail behind him.

"Would you two just shut up? I'm nervous enough as it is." Harry said aloud. 'Light' and 'Dark' quieted immediately. As the two other parts of his fragmented mind finally left him in the glorious silence, Harry took a deep breath and once again inspected the wand Calypso had stolen and given him. While it didn't feel like his old phoenix feather wand, it still performed reasonably well. He lowered the stick of willow and unicorn hair to pull out the other tool Calypso had given him: A third generation Glock 17C. It was faded and scratched up, but his suit-wearing savior guaranteed that it worked when he was given a clip and some dummies to practice with. He couldn't pull off a headshot without a few seconds to line the gun up, but he was still able to point and shoot as well as any other teenage thug who picked up a piece for the first time.

"Alright…" Harry gulped as he flipped the safety catch on his gun. "Let's get this over with." And he stuck out his wand.

BANG!

This time, Harry kept his balance as the enormous, triple-deckered behemoth that Britain knew as the Knight Bus pulled up. Despite the pane of glass between him and the interior of the bus, Harry felt his throat constrict when he recognized the face that prepared to jump out and meet him. As the door slid open and Stan Shunpike leaned out, he began to raise his gun hand.

"Hello, and welcome to-"

BLAM!

Stan's eyes snapped wide open as his monologue was halted as a 9x19mm round tore into his chest, a spray of blood erupting from the bullet's entry point. While Harry was not terribly familiar with human anatomy, he was fairly sure that he put the round through Stan's lung. As the pimpled youth fell, Harry raised his gun a little higher and fired off a round at Ernie Prang, the driver of the Knight Bus who was reaching for his wand. The old man's blood and bits of something white coated the inside of the windshield.

'_Boom, headshot!'_ 'Dark' cackled. Indeed, Harry had shot the old driver in the head. He paid little attention to that fact as he marched into the bus.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry leaned backwards and grabbed one of the poles to stop himself from falling out of the bus, and avoid the Stunning spell at the same time. As he pulled his weight back into the bus, he pointed down the nearly empty aisle and fired off another shot at the offending middle-aged wizard. It hit him in his non-wand shoulder, prompting a bellow of pain, silenced by a second bullet piercing his body. Harry had little time to recuperate as a teenage witch came barreling down the spiraling stairs, wand raised. She never got a chance to engage him, as a quick Body Bind put her out of commission. While he had less of a problem killing adult magicals, Harry's conscience- warped as it was- steadfastly refused to allow him to kill children.

It took him a few minutes, but Harry managed to shoot his way through the bus. One or two of its occupants were sleeping, so that made it a little easier, knowing that they couldn't fight back when he shot them in the head. The other child was similarly Body Bound, but carelessly tossed out of the bus onto the heap of nine bloody corpses.

'_It'll wear off eventually.' _'Dark' soothed as Harry fiddled with the numerous dials and levers that composed the Knight Bus' dashboard. Finally, he pulled a lever that got the huge transporter's engine revving, and quickly drove off into the night, leaving the scene of a massacre behind.

* * *

><p>It was two weeks after adding mass murder to his resume that Harry saw the vehicle he had stolen again. As he started at it inside the workshop hidden in an abandoned slum in Tottenham, he couldn't believe this armored beast once carted stranded wizards and witches around.<p>

What was once a dark twilight colour was now starch white steel and titanium plating with black spots and streaks. Some of them were grouped in such a way that they resembled ghoulish faces. The plating, Calypso said, was strong enough to withstand a couple missile hits and a slew of bullet fire. The top deck of the bus had been sawed off to decrease its size and turn it into a weapons platform. A six-barreled gun turret sat on the middle of the deck, and would be manned by one of the copilots he had yet to meet with the purpose of blasting the cars his forward mounted HMGs (Heavy Machine Guns) or his shotgun-seat copilot couldn't hit. Also on the platform were his homing and flame missile launchers. The special feature on Harry's vehicle that would lend him a weapon unique to his car was the eight steel dragon heads on the second deck. There were three per side of the bus, one on the back, and one on the front. When not in use, they were coiled up inside the vehicle. But when Harry was able to activate them, eight latches would open and the dragons would uncoil, sticking out of the portholes like cannons on sailing ships from the era of pirates. From there, they would spew out jets of acetylene-based flames to surround him and damage anyone who came within a few metres of him.

"Quite the imagination you have, making a beast like this Harry." Calypso praised, having just entered Harry's warehouse. Said jail-escaping murderer grunted in response.

"Although how it will hold up against some of the veterans back for blood is anyone's guess." He added absentmindedly. His well-dressed savior had become much more prone to criticism and attempting emotional manipulations after he had tasked Harry with finding himself a car to use in the contest. If he expected Harry to rise to the bait though, he was going to be superbly disappointed.

"Y'know, you still need a name for this tin heap." Calypso reminded him. Though he said nothing, Harry cursed his savior. The inability to think of a suitable name for his tricked out Knight Bus had been vexing him for the last week. He didn't want anything that referenced death or destruction; those were cliché'd and tacky. Size meant nothing in this contest, and anything with the word 'Magic' in it was out.

'_Maybe name it after a famous wizard or witch, or some… thing…'_ "Got it," Harry muttered to himself. Calypso heard, and rotated his head slightly.

"You've thought of a name?" He asked with a sleek eyebrow quirked. Harry nodded and turned to the host, the tiny gleam of madness smoldering in his jade orbs.

"Warlock."

* * *

><p><strong>And that's a wrap for another COMPLETELY original Teaser crossover, Harry Potter x Twisted Metal (It's true! I checked!). Couple things:<strong>

**-A- I am using the 2011 Twisted Metal version of Calypso.  
><strong>**-B- Were I to make this a real fic, I would need a LOT of help from you, the readers, because I don't know a lot about Twisted Metal (Mostly because I own a SeXbox as appose to a GayStation). But anyways…**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment  
><strong>**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment  
><strong>**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment  
><strong>**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Until next time,**

**Dirty Reid**


	5. Deus Ex Magus

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Seems my updates for this 'fic' are hit-and-miss. Just a little FYI, most of the crossover ideas I have that are in here will be game or movie crossovers, so it shouldn't be hard to find some footage on YouTube and see what they're all about.**

**Chapter 5: Deus Ex Magus**

**Note: Set in 2016**

* * *

><p>It all happened so fast.<p>

One moment, sixteen-year-old Hermione Granger was sitting in the back of her parents' Range Rover, talking animatedly about her less-than-stellar year at Hogwarts. The next, a piercing light had illuminated the already well lit car. The two-ton mass of steel and plastic had caved in on the right side, smearing Kevin Granger with glass, steel and pieces of plastic as it started to roll. The first roll threw Alice Granger's head from side to side violently. The second roll placed hairline fractures in her cervical vertebrae. Halfway through the third roll, the fourth vertebra snapped, piercing her spinal cord and paralyzing her from the neck down.

Hermione was similarly sprayed with glass, but as she was situated on the right side of the car, the velocity of the deadly projectiles was tempered somewhat. Unlike her father however, her head collided with the side of the car, the padding only slightly dampening the pain of the incredible pressure placed on her skull for that agonizing fraction of a second. One might consider Hermione fortunate for passing out just after her head rebounded.

Uncounted time passed before the teenage witch's eyes opened blearily again. It took her an incredibly long time to process that she was seeing the world sideways, and that she could hear almost nothing over the ringing in her ears. Not having the thought to question why, she attempted to right herself. When that failed, she tried to move her head to see what was preventing her from moving about. Bad idea. Hermione returned her head to its original position to abate the increased amount of pain. Instead, she began to feel about. She quickly came across her seatbelt, and slid her hand down to the clip, lest she lose her fragile grip on the belt. After she had freed herself, she had one thought in mind:

Get out of there.

Shakily righting herself, she began to pull herself upwards. She gritted her teeth and screamed weakly as she sliced her hands on the broken window. The small, freshly let rivulets joined the splatters of blood and imbedded glass along her arms, coupled with the tangy liquid dribbling from her face and mouth. She couldn't count the time it took her to pull her weakening body out of the top of the car and flop down onto the ground. She could barely scream, due to all the blood clogging her throat. As she clawed herself to look upwards, she could make out dark shapes against crackling fires. Because her eyes were so clouded by blood, she couldn't make any features out. Fear of the unknown stimulated the release of adrenalin, and Hermione temporarily forgot about her pain as she staggered unsteadily to her feet and started to wobble.

Unknown to her, the gas cap of the Granger car had been broken open, and was trickling the highly flammable liquid. Nearby, pieces of burning debris became dampened by the gasoline, causing it to catch fire.

The last thing Hermione heard was a muffled yell; then after a tremendously hot force slammed into her back, the world went black again.

* * *

><p>There was no pain. No fear. No confusion.<p>

Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness over a time that seemed as long as a life age of the earth. In the few seconds her memory preserved, she was able to hear a rhythmic beeping (a heart monitor), feel a cold breeze around her mouth (oxygen flowing through the mom-rebreathing mask on her face), the occasional distorted voice, and see a lifeless white mass (the ceiling). Finally, using all of her willpower, Hermione Granger opened her eyes. The sterile white ceiling, mask on her face and rhythmic beeping told her she was in a hospital. She noted after a moment that her field of vision seemed to have been reduced; the reason (to her growing horror) was that there was a patch over her eye, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't feel any response when trying to move it. She was weakly trying to raise herself from the bed- stopping when a fire raced across her chest- when a loud buzz sounded, startling her. She looked left- having to turn her head significantly further to see- and focused on the dark-skinned white-coated man who entered the room. Behind him were a face-to-forget nurse and a well dressed man who appeared to be in his forties. While the doctor and the nurse entered the room completely, the well-dressed man remained beside the door, his arms crossed and a calculating look on his face.

"How are you feeling, Miss Granger?" The doctor asked. Hermione was silent for a moment. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she knew she should keep her answer short.

"Afraid," she answered. The doctor nodded as an empathic frown crossed his rather handsome face.

"I would be too, considering the situation." He picked up a chart and looked it over.

"All things considered Miss Granger, you're lucky to be alive. Had you not been a witch-" the doctor held up his hand as Hermione moved to deny his claim, then reached into his coat, pulling out just enough of the handle of his wand for her to see. "As I was saying, had your magic not kept you together, you would be dead right about now." This day was getting to be more weird than frightening.

"… How banged up am I?" she managed to rasp. The doctor consulted his chart.

"Pretty badly." He summarized before elaborating. "As you probably guessed, you have lost one of your eyes. You were suffering from a moderate concussion and blown eardrums when you were brought here, but your magic healed them fairly swiftly. Are you still having trouble breathing?" Hermione nodded minutely, which was about as much as she could nod. "I'm not surprised; most of your ribs were broken quite close to your spine when your parents' car's gas tank exploded. Your arms and legs…" The doctor trailed off.

"What?" Hermione whispered as tears welled and her despair mounted.

"They… they were shredded. Even if they were to heal, almost sixty percent of their mass has been burned or ripped off. Truthfully Miss Granger, even though your spinal cord is intact, you will likely spend the rest of your life confined to a wheelchair." The doctor informed her with a small shake of his head. Just as the tears started to fall, Hermione realized that she had forgotten one, no, _two_ important facts.

"My parents?" She asked. She was grasping at strings of hope, but deep down, the pessimistic part of her already knew the answer. The doctor's reaction of looking down and to the left confirmed her fears.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger but… they were dead long before the ambulances got there. If it's any consolation, the coroner informed me that neither of them suffered." He said softly. The floodgates opened and Hermione started bawling. She managed to roll onto her side in order to better swipe at her eyes with her weakened and bandaged arm. She was so absorbed in letting her grief out that she failed to hear the doctor speaking quietly with either the nurse or the other man, followed by the door to her ward opening and closing. A handful of minutes later, she had cried so much that her ribs were starting to hurt even more. Her sobs dwindled to weak sniffs, and eventually, Hermione had dried herself of tears. It took her a moment to painfully return herself to her supine position and look over to where the doctor was standing. Her curiosity ran high when only the man who had stood back was visible. His arms remained crossed, but his look had shifted from pensieve to a quarter-smile.

"I really wish we could have met under better circumstances," he broke the ice, his accent clearly American and his quarter-smile disappearing. Though she said nothing, Hermione agreed with him.

"Who are you?" she asked. She thought she heard him say 'Straight to the point,' under his breath, but she wouldn't have been surprised if her ears still had some healing to do.

"Well Hermione, I'm David Sarif. I'm the CEO of Sarif Industries which operates out of the U.S." 'David Sarif' replied, purposefully striding closer and settling on a stool by Hermione's bed. The witch frowned.

"Never heard of Sarif Industries." She admitted apologetically. Sarif's mouth twitched.

"And I don't blame you. You don't know about us because we've only established ourselves within the last three years, so we're a very small company. And partially because of your magic community's rejection of all things Mundane." Hermione frowned at the alternate term.

"Is that what Americans call Muggles?" She must have said something wrong, because Sarif frowned.

"No," he rebutted. "We call them that because the word you just used is an equivalent to dropping an n-bomb." He explained. Had she been able to, Hermione would have clapped her hands over her mouth. "That's another thing that M-Britain (Hermione raised an eyebrow at this term) is known for: Racism." Sarif's face had hardened. "And before you start apologizing, don't. I know you were never told, so I'll let it slide this time." Cut off before her spree, Hermione fished around for something to ask.

"Why is Sarif Industries interested in me, so much so that you yourself came to visit?" She asked. Sarif's eyes became shifty and he reached into his pants pocket. Hermione heard a quiet _beep_ and the older man withdrew his hand. "What did you just do?" she queried.

"A jammer," Sarif explained quietly. "It emits a mild electromagnetic field that interferes with any audio-visual recording devices in a ten metre radius. Well, it's supposed to, but I'm not taking any chances." He leaned in closer, and Hermione adjusted herself so she could hear him better.

"We recently got wind of the civil war M-Britain is about to start up again from an ex-pat. What they told me didn't paint a nice picture: You've got some homicidal psychopath crying out for your country's blood, and your government is too busy choke-fucking liberty to stop him. SI won't be able to stop the war; but the amount of blood it will spill? _That_, we can alter." Sarif said cryptically.

"How will Sarif Industries do that, and how does it relate to me?" Hermione whispered.

"Quite simply Hermione, I'm here to offer you a job." Said Sarif. Hermione blinked.

"What kind of job? If you're going to suggest spying, my condition kind of works against me sir." She pointed out. Sarif allowed an amused 'Hmph'.

"It's interesting that you bring that up Hermione, because- and I apologize for not having a better way to explain this- one of the conditions required for you to accept this job would alleviate your condition." Sarif explained. Noting that he said he couldn't find a better explanation, Hermione became wary.

"What are these conditions?" She asked cautiously. Sarif exhaled slowly.

"That condition that you agree to a few, erm, experimental procedures regarding your damaged parts." Sarif answered cryptically. Hermione's brows knitted.

"You mean prosthetics?" She deduced. Sarif nodded. "Why would they be experimental then?" She continued.

"I really don't want to discuss this here Hermione; too many possible eyes and ears." Sarif warned as he stood. "I've arranged for you to be transferred to a private clinic in Detroit in a week's time; I'll leave it up to you what you want to tell the other world. You have my word that I'll give you the details in Detroit. But for now, rest up." Sarif flicked his wrist in a half-wave as he opened the door to the ward and made his exit. Hermione sat there for a moment, marveling at the interesting turn her life had taken after the attack that almost killed her.

* * *

><p>In the week of intensely painful mana-fueled before her exit, Dr. Sorola informed Hermione that he had indeed gone through Healer training, but only worked part-time in 'M-Britain' as Sarif referred to it, in favour of medical school and a less close-minded workplace. She was also told that the incident that killed her parents and left her temporarily crippled was perpetrated by Death Eaters, although he didn't know which ones. Her want to go to America in order to remedy her condition diminished when Sorola told her that he had to deny Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom and several members of the Weasley clan access to her. When she asked why, he answered that Sarif wanted to 'Ensure her departure was as quiet as possible, and didn't completely trust her to keep quiet.' That comment earned Sarif a curse from the crippled witch. She continued to stew in her annoyance as a repurposed V-22 Osprey- almost alien in its modernity- flew her across the Atlantic Ocean. The padded seats, available food and drink, dulled pain and no-longer-necessary oxygen mask did little to quell her impatience.<p>

It was eventually shouldered by curiosity as the Osprey swung to a stop and groaned softly as it set down on a helipad in the dead of night. Using most of the strength she could muster, she rolled her wheelchair down the ramp. Her eyebrows quirked when she saw David Sarif- dressed immaculately- standing before her, accompanied by two armed guards. A four-floored complex with yellowish lights served as the backdrop, accompanied by a cloud-streaked skyline, smudged with the orange of light pollution and the stink of industry.

"Hello Hermione," Sarif greeted with a smile. "I hope your trip wasn't unpleasant."

"It wouldn't have been if you hadn't made that comment about a quiet departure." Hermione shot back a little more forcefully than she thought was necessary. Sarif didn't give an inch.

"No disrespect Hermione, but other than your name I don't know anything about you. How can I place my trust in someone if I don't know how they think?" He asked. For a moment, the witch considered Sarif's words and what he did. As a CEO, it was likely that many people who attempted to do business with him or get closer were simply liars attempting to steal his secrets. Add in the factor that she was magical, and Hermione could begin to understand Sarif's uneasiness.

"… You do have a point. Sorry, Mr. Sarif. That was narrow-minded of me." Hermione apologized. Sarif smiled thinly.

"Don't mention it, kid. C'mon, I'll show you around a little bit before we take you to surgery." Sarif grasped her wheelchair and began to push her along. On their short trip through Sarif Industries' main HQ, Hermione was impressed with the modernity of it all. Muted yellow and various shades of red on black stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the soft white floor to ceiling monitors displaying the various technologies Sarif Industries offered. The technologies also threw the one-eyed witch for a loop; they were far more advanced than any other prosthetics she had seen at any point in her life. While a few of them were thin frames with wires, hydraulic pistons and gangly-looking fingers or toes, a handful of them looked like they came out of a mold cast by a true human limb. She also saw advertisements for implantable biochips, rebreathers, and something called 'Dermal Armor'.

"This is incredible," Hermione breathed. "Why haven't I seen anything about these prosthetics on the news?" she asked. Sarif didn't answer for a moment as he swiped an ID card.

"Like I said before Hermione, we're a very young corporation, so we haven't devoted a great deal of time or money to marketing. That being said, most of our clients are from the DOD- Department of Defense," Sarif elaborated at Hermione's blank look. "And they want to ease this technology into the public eye as slowly and gently as possible. Being from M-Britain, you of all people should know that no matter where you are, change isn't the most welcome phenomenon." Sarif said with no small amount of derision in his voice. Hermione nodded, recalling the various times several Mugg- _Mundane_ ideas she had told to some of her pureblooded fellow students had been met with uncertainty or scorn.

"Can't argue with that." Hermione muttered. Sarif nodded. Along the rest of the tour, Hermione was introduced to many of Sarif's people: His secretary, Athene Margoulis, was a kindly Greek woman with a firm edge, not unlike a less overbearing version of Molly Weasley. Hermione found a kindred spirit in Francis Pritchard, a new member of the cyber-security division, based on the fact that their intelligence was looked down on or ridiculed by their peers. She was sure she would have gotten on better with Vasili Sevchenko if she could have deciphered what he was saying, but she simply smiled and nodded her way through it.

"I have a hard time understanding him sometimes too," Sarif whispered to her as they rode an elevator to the top floor. How he managed to figure that out, Hermione did not know. "Here we are." The elevator door opened to a sterile-smelling, completely white room. The only colour was the black and yellow of the various computer screens, and the lifeless steel of the various surgical robots.

"Well, here's where those conditions come into play." Sarif said more to himself. Having seen what Sarif Industries offered, Hermione's heart rate went up.

"You're going to replace my limbs with those prosthetics?" Hermione asked excitedly. Sarif grinned at her enthusiasm.

"Yes indeed. That, and a couple upgrades if you're interested." Sarif replied shadily. Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"Upgrades?" she repeated uncertainly.

"I was thinking maybe a neural enhancement; think faster, retain more memory. Whaddaya say?" Sarif asked. His informant had told him that this was Hermione's greatest weakness. True to their word, a gleam flittered across Hermione's eyes.

"Deal," she agreed. Sarif forced back a laugh as a member of the surgical team took over pushing the witch's wheelchair. As they helped her onto the table and began the pre-anesthetic preparation procedure, he wondered how she would react when she woke up part machine, part human.

* * *

><p>Everything was <em>fucking<em> heavy.

That was the first thought through Hermione's head when her brain re-engaged as the anesthetic wore off after only God and the surgeons know how long. As she tried to reengage her occipitals, she stopped when yellow words began flitting across the blackness of her eyelids.

SARIF INDUSTRIES POWERTAP ENERGY CONVERTER [PROTOTYPE] ONLINE.

POWER LEVEL: 42% (CHARGING…)

SYSTEM POWERING UP…

PEDOT ELECTRODE ARRAY ONLINE…

NEW INFORMATION AVAILABLE. DOWNLOADING…

ACQUIRING INFOLINK MK. 1.09 SIGNAL… COMPLETE. SIGNAL STRENGTH: 92.5%

ACTIVATING COCHLEAR IMPLANTS…

ACTIVATING EYE-KNOW RETINAL PROSTHESIS…

INITIALIZING ALTERNATE VISION MODES… FAILED

INITIALIZING WAYFINDER RADAR SYSTEM MK. 1.16… FAILED

DOWNLOAD 56% COMPLETE…

ACTIVATING SENTINEL RX HEALTH SYSTEM MK. 1.13…

INITIALIZING CARDIVERTOR DEFIBRILLATOR… FAILED

INITIALIZING HYPER-OX REBREATHER SYSTEM… FAILED

ACTIVATING RHINO DERMAL ARMOR MESH MK. 1.0… FAILED

ACTIVATING GLASS-SHIELD CLOAKING SYSTEM MK 1.21… FAILED

ACTIVATING QUICKSILVER REFLEX BOOSTER… FAILED

ACTIVATING CYBERNETIC ARM PROSTHESIS…

ACTIVATING CYBERNETIC LEG PROSTHESIS…

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.

The diagnostic notices ceased, and were replaced by several yellow-rimmed tabs. In the upper left corner of her vision, Hermione identified a heartbeat monitor and ECG reading (39 BPM, 116/82). Underneath it was a flashing forest green bar with a reading of 51% to its right. In the top right corner of her vision were three icons. One was solid, while the other two were transparent. The solid icon was a generic eye; the icon to the left was a camera, and the icon to the right was the letters 'IR'. In the middle portion of her right periphery, Hermione saw a generic person- much like the sign denoting gender on the door of a loo- who was half solid, half transparent. When she closed the eye she had lost, a shiver of unpleasant surprise crawled through her flesh as she came to a conclusion: Both of her eyes had been replaced with prosthetics.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes but quickly narrowed them; a very bright light was shining down on her. Suddenly, the light became less intense, and the image of an eye with a shield in place of its sclera and pupil flashed across her vision. She opened her eyes fully and surveyed her surroundings as best she could. Her vision, while fine before, now had reached a degree of clarity that would make an eagle envious. The light was a lamp attached to a well-polished steel bar, also bearing multiple attachments that ended in syringes, robotic fingers, various blades and even some sort of scanner. She shifted her eyes to the right and got a look at a handful of computer screens displaying stats she couldn't decipher. As she looked, something black caught her eye. It looked like…

Hermione made a move to raise her right arm. The black object followed the motion she had aimed to make. As it rose further up, the witch's mouth opened in shock as she took in the sight of her brand new prosthetic arm. Her 'shoulder' looked similar to an anatomical depiction of the muscle groups at that location. From there, red joints interspersed segments of smooth, grooved metal and cushion-like bundles of fibers that were actually very hard. Her forearm had visible and raised moveable plates, and at the point where her arm met her wrist, she could see a small gap. There were raised steel ridges over her knuckles and the metacarpi of her fingers. Hermione tore her eyes away from her right arm, and was greeted with an identical prosthesis on her left.

Looking down her body, Hermione noted several… ports… along the ridge of her collarbone. Someone had changed her into a standard hospital gown that was short enough for her to see her new legs. Like her arms, they were black and shaped similarly to the contours of muscles. Her knees were opal-hued spheres and Hermione's prosthetic legs only had two large 'toes' and an extended heel; her foot looked more like a hoof-talon cross.

Hermione bent her new knees and discovered that they worked just fine. Lowering her arms and placing her hands on the gurney, she pushed herself up slowly. Her back immediately felt cool, and Hermione remembered that hospital gowns were open at the back. One of her arms darted down and elicited a sigh of relief when she felt knickers tighten as she pulled on their waistband. Twisting her arm, she felt a bra around her back. Sighing in relief, Hermione slowly swung her legs over the bed and set down on them for the first time. A sort of… emptiness filler her when she failed to feel the cold hardness of the floor under her metal soles. On that note, her first footstep was loud enough to nearly scare the crap out of her. As Hermione placed her cold, false palm over her racing heart, she was again struck by that feeling of emptiness.

'_It's for your own good, H,' _her annoying little inner voice reassured. _'The other option was being a paraplegic.' _Hermione shook her head and continued her readjustment. Being as curious as she was, Hermione started to slowly make her way over to the various computer screens. Sitting slightly off to the side were two trays. One was covered in soiled surgical tools and small bottles of opiates (among other things), and the other was clean enough to reflect the light on the ceiling. Shrugging, the cyborg witch picked up the tray and felt her mouth slide open as she got a look at her face.

Her hair had- there were no other words for it- calmed down enough to be considered 'cutely tousled'. At the point where her short bangs parted, just medial to her left temple, there was a hexagonal indentation in her skin with the letters 'SI' tattooed (?) on the skin. Hermione felt her shock grow as she took a closer look at her eyes. The whites clearly had no arteries in them, and were far too smooth to be human flesh. Hermione noted with interest that she had no urge to blink. Her sclera were gone, and were replaced with various concentric circles, each with varying states of luminosity.

This was almost too much. It was just enough to make Hermione drop the tray and stumble backwards to rest her back against a wall. "My God," she whispered as she reached up and touched her face. "I'm barely human anymore."

Not a second later, she heard the door to the left of her bed open. With surprisingly fast reflexes, Hermione spun about to lock eyes with David Sarif.

"Test driving 'Hermione 2.0' already?" Sarif asked with a grin. Hermione didn't laugh or even smile at his lightening comment. His grin dropped when she didn't react positively. "Let me guess: You're frightened by the degree that we've changed you." He guessed correctly. Hermione nodded silently. "Well, let me ask you this: Do you still think of yourself as Hermione J. Granger, teenage witch?" He crossed his arms as he looked at her intently. Even though the answer was obvious, Hermione still took a moment to nod again.

"Good. That means you _know_ that you're human. And as long as you still think of yourself as Hermione J. Granger, you will always _be_ Hermione J. Granger. Never forget that." Sarif closed the gap between them and placed a hand on Hermione's black shoulder. He must have seen the doubt that still lingered.

"… But look at me," she muttered, raising her arms slightly. "Will other people still see me as Hermione? Or as some robot that looks like her?" She lowered her head as she continued to struggle with her appearance's impact upon her perceived identity. Sarif gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered her back towards her bed. As he sat down with her, he looked straight ahead and let out a small breath.

"Let me tell you a little something, Hermione." Sarif opened in a low tone. The cyborg witch looked up at the older man. She was immediately struck by how the grey around his temples suddenly seemed to stretch; how the lines standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his eyes and mouth suddenly deepened.

"Humanity has been struggling to understand its nature for millennia," he continued softly. "Trying to understand what exactly makes us who we are; our looks, our lineage, our genetic code. Well, this is just my personal opinion, but I believe that it will be well received in the years to come." Sarif paused, and Hermione found herself sitting up just a little bit straighter, suspense building as she waited for her savior's answer.

"What is your opinion?" she asked. He didn't answer for a moment until he turned to lock eyes with her. Hermione felt as though she was shrinking under his gaze and the powerful words that fell from his lips:

"Who we are is but a stepping stone to what we can become." Sarif proclaimed sagely. "You, Hermione, are the next stepping stone: An amalgamate of flesh and machine working in harmony to become something _more_ than human. Something beautiful. Something that will be the vanguard of our journey through evolution." Sarif raised an arm and brushed a lock of hair away from Hermione's face, smiling softly. Catching the sincerity of the older man's words, Hermione couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks David." She whispered with gratitude, leaning into his side. For a moment, the two simply sat, enjoying the mentor/student moment.

"As much as I'd like to stay and talk with you Hermione, I have some business to attend to. Get used to moving around, and if you stumble upon a feature of your augmentations (Hermione blinked in interest at the use of that word, as appose to prosthetics), try not to break anything with it. After you've taken a week to get used to your new self, and we make sure that there were no troubles, the lab techs will help you get the hang of your new abilities and teach you how to put that downloaded info to use." As Sarif got up, Hermione asked a question.

"What was in that download?" Sarif stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Ask yourself; the file's open." He answered. Thrown off just a little by his cryptic response, Hermione closed her eyes and thought anything along the lines of 'Open downloaded file'. Seconds later, she opened her eyes as yet another fact hit her:

She knew two different forms of martial arts and how to wield various weapons.

* * *

><p>True to his word, in one week's time, Vasili Sevchenko was observing Hermione from a large window above a steel grey room. The teenage cyborg was dressed in a simple black undershirt and tight shorts, showing off her augmentations, staring intently at the expansive room she was in. Over the past two days, Hermione had practiced her normal functions and testing the limits of her augmentations' strength. Imagine her surprise when she had lifted a heavily-outfitted mechanical gurney with only a moderate amount of effort. She noted that her leg augmentations were just a little longer than her original legs, making her taller and giving her a longer stride. In addition, she had discovered that, aside from her 'normal' state, she had three alternate vision modes, characterized by the letters 'IR' (Infrared Mode), a camera (CameraRecorder Mode) and a gradually thickening arch (Telescopic Mode). She could also pull up an address list where she could use her Infolink connection to patch herself through to the personal frequency of the person she was calling, or send something to their email. Currently, there was only one person on the list: David Sarif.

"Are you ready, Hermione?" Sevchenko asked through her cochlear implant. Hermione simply nodded in reply. "Excellent. The first test ve vill run ees to calibrate your retinal augmentations. For this test, please direct your attention to the screen to your left." Hermione did so and fixed her prosthetic eyes on the blank flatscreen. "Ven a square lights up on the screen, please look at it." Silence for a few seconds, then a yellow square in the top middle of the screen lit up. Hermione quickly craned her neck to focus on the centre of the square. It turned green and vanished, reappearing at the bottom of the screen. Hermione trained her eyes on it, it changed and vanished, and the process repeated three more times on the left, right, and centre of the screen.

"Excellent, your retinal enhancements are vorking perfectly in sync." Sevchenko noted, looking down to fiddle with something. "One moment… I am activating your alternative vision modes…" Hermione did not flinch when words lit up underneath her 'retinal dial':

… VISUAL ALTERNATE "INFRARED MODE" ACTIVATED

… VISUAL ALTERNATE "CAMERA MODE" ACTIVATED

… VISUAL ALTERNATE "TELESCOPIC MODE" ACTIVATED

"Dr. Sevchenko? Which one do you want me to try first?" Hermione asked, hanging her head to speak more directly into the tiny microphone she had clipped to her shirt.

"You decide," he answered. Hermione blinked and took a long breath in.

"Infrared, let's go with that." She eventually decided.

"Very well. Ven I dim the lights, activate your infrared vision." Sevchenko looked down and the incandescent lights went out immediately throwing the 'pit' into darkness. Hermione found it just a little bit weird that her HUD did not disappear with the light; it was something that would require more getting used to. Blinking for the first time in minutes, Hermione mentally commanded 'Activate Infrared Mode'. The signal from her brain registered in the PEDOT electrode, which sent the message at light speed to her prosthetic eyes, immediately engaging filters that left Hermione seeing a dull blue outline of the room she was in. She raised her arms and saw them painted light purple. Looking down her body, her flesh was dark yellow ochre, and her clothes a light orange. She raised her head and saw the yellow and orange blot that was Sevchenko up in the control room.

"Dr. Sevchenko? It works." Hermione stated. The doctor moved around, presumably noting the success.

"Excellent. Deactivate them, and ve shall progress vith your other vision modes." Hermione commanded her eyes to return to 'Normal', blackness immediately following as they reset. The lights went back on quickly after.

"Ve shall test your telescopic vision next. Please direct your attention to the wall to your left." Hermione turned to her left, and noted that a small pedestal had arisen from the floor. There was a plaque with a short sentence on it standing atop the pedestal.

"Use your zoom mode to read what is on the plaque." Sevchenko instructed. Hermione nodded, commanding her eyes to switch vision modes. A small tab opened up underneath her vision radial, the word 0.0x inside it in the characteristic, blocky yellow letters she had grown accustomed to seeing everywhere. With another blink, Hermione pictured her vision magnifying, and her PEDOT array made it so. The 0.0x became 2.1x… 7.8x… 12.3x… She stopped at 14.9x when she could finally read the words scrawled across the plaque.

"'To attempt to stop the future is to attempt to stop the world from turning,'" Hermione read. Her eyebrows went up. "That sounds like something Mr. Sarif would say."

"He did." Sevchenko nodded. "He made that saying the unofficial motto of Sarif Industries when he officially opened his business."

The process of testing repeated, Sevchenko this time asking her to take a picture of the room, as well as do a three-hundred-and-sixty degree pan while recording, and send them to the email address he had uploaded to her address book the day before. Similarly, her radar system activated smoothly. It was a black square tab rimmed in yellow, with Hermione portrayed as a white arrow in the centre of the square. Sevchenko told her that if she knew someone who was on her radar, and they were friendly, they appeared as a green arrow, much like he was. If she considered them 'neutral', they were white. Hostiles appeared in yellow, and if they were within her field of vision, red. It took a grand total of fifteen minutes for Sevchenko to declare that Hermione's eyes were working fine.

From there, they moved on to her arms. Hermione jumped when three ballistics gel dummies with fake bones and the ability to move emerged from below the pit.

"Your next test will be a combination of ensuring that your legs, your arms, and your CQC systems work. Bringing them online now…" Sevchenko tapped on his keyboard, and another notification flashed across Hermione's HUD: LANCER WEAPONS SYSTEM ACTIVATED. Hermione's arm plates opened up and replaced themselves quickly. "Best of luck!" Sevchenko added. Out of the corner of her eye, one of the dummies wound up for a right hook.

Acting in a way she never had before, Hermione leaned backward and twirled right. She brought her arm up and smashed the side of her fist into the dummy's head. Like a real human, it stumbled back and turned about. The cyborg witch stepped backwards as the second dummy 'came to life' It's leg came up in a front kick and Hermione, again with speed she was still surprised by, crouched down and spun on the ball of her foot, juking successfully behind the dummy. As she stopped herself on all fours, she threw her body upwards on one hand. Her heel came down hard on the back of the dummy's 'head', pushing it forward. Looking backwards and upside down, Hermione saw a set of yellowish feet and legs advancing towards her. She threw her legs down and turned to face her new attacker. She leaned to the right to avoid a hook, and raised her left arm to block a cross punch. Her newness to fighting showed at this point, as she did not block the dummy's left fist returning to crash into her jaw. Lightning fast, the sheet of Dermal Armor under Hermione's skin became rigid, lessening the severity of the blow. It still hurt, even though the fist was made of a semi-hard gel and a carbon polymer frame as hard as bone.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione latched down on the dummy's right wrist and _pulled_. As it fell forward, she brought her right hand forward, jamming the formerly meaty part of her palm into the junction between the dummy's node and maxillary bone. As it stumbled back, Hermione jabbed it in the chest successively four times and followed up with a left hook to the face. Watching her radar, Hermione performed a sort of half-pirouette and jumped over a metre into the air, raising her arm as one of the dummies approached her. As she fell, she brought her elbow down on the dummy's head. As it planted its featureless face on the ground, a dull _crack_ followed suit. Looking up, she managed to move to the side so the attacking dummy's kick only caught her shoulder. It threw her off enough that she didn't react to the dummy behind her until its foot was planted in the middle of her back. She managed to turn her stumble into a roll, again using the incredible strength her prosthetic arms to springboard back to her feet.

'_This is incredible!'_ She gushed silently. _'I've never seen most of these moves before, but I can do them perfectly!' _She stopped her observations when the dummies came towards her again. She observed that one of them had a visible crack in the ballistics gel and the false skull, and was moving much slower. _'They must mimic actual human function more than I thought; actual debilitation when I damage them.'_

One of the dummies came in with an axe kick. Hermione ducked under it and raised her leg to avoid the follow up sweep. Her foot snapped out and impacted the dummy's chest, knocking it on its rear. She stepped on its chest and sprang off into a jump kick, which the second dummy blocked, surprisingly enough. It threw a straight punch, which Hermione deked around, grabbing the offending wrist and pulling. The dummy stumbled forward, right into her knee, and additional elbow to the back. The cyborg witch lowered her knee, but struck the dummy in the back with her elbow again. It fell to the floor just as the more heavily damaged dummy threw an overhead punch. She swatted it out of the way, and brought her elbow down on its chest. As it hesitated, she wrenched her body to the right and brought her leg up in a high right roundhouse kick. The dummy stumbled for a few steps before falling over, smacking its head on the hard floor. The dummy she had kneed came at her with a front kick. Despite knowing how to fight effectively, Hermione still did not have the greatest stamina; she had to end this fight quickly, before she got sloppier.

With a new objective in mind, Hermione caught the dummy's leg and pulled, stretching the gel and polymer bones until the dummy was 'sitting' in the splits. Quickly, Hermione wrapped both of her hands around the dummy's hairless, featureless head and _twisted_. A sickening _snap _followed, and the dummy fell to the side, unmoving. Noting her radar, Hermione fixed her false eyes on the second dummy moving towards her. With a mental command and the musical sound of metal on metal, foot-long blades extended from her forearms. In an upward sweep, putting all the force behind it as she could, Hermione brought her implanted blades through the ballistics gel and carbon polymer bones of the dummy, severing both of its arms. It stopped in its tracks, and was unable to block the kick to the chest. To her left, the last dummy advanced towards her. Retracting her left blade, Hermione threw herself into a one-handed cartwheel, bringing the top of her foot down on the dummy's head. Predictably, it stopped from the force of the blow, and was stunned long enough for Hermione to swing her still-extended blade and slice the dummy's throat open. Using the potential energy she retained, Hermione brought her leg up into a flip kick, the business end of her foot snapping the ballistics gel still connecting the dummy's head to its body, and sending it flying. The dummy fell to its knees as Hermione slowed to a stop in a crouch, and keeled over as she retracted her arm blade. She couldn't help what came next…

"Hermione wins! Fatality!" She crowed as she stood up. Through her cochlear implants, she heard Sevchenko laughing, and what sounded like clapping.

"Nicely done, Hermione! Your first fight without magic and you barely made any mistakes!" David Sarif praised. Looking up at the booth, she could clearly see his darker complexion next to Vasili's. "Come on up, there's someone else here I'd like you to meet." Intrigued, Hermione jogged towards the control room access door and climbed two stairs at a time. Entering the control room, she spotted the third person whom Sarif wanted her to meet. He was dressed in a very tasteful burgundy pinstripe suit, and his left shoulder was covered by a black cape made of an iridescent material. Wrapped around his right leg was a very high-tech-looking white brace, and he was holding a crutch that resembled a prosthetic leg with a hyperextended foot. Hermione could not help but feel as though she had seen his kindly, white-haired face somewhere before.

"So you are the Miss Hermione Granger David has been regaling me with tales about." The man began in a comfortingly familiar British accent, coupled with a small smile. "Hugh Darrow," Darrow revealed, extending his left hand. Something in Hermione's mind clicked after Darrow stated his name.

"Hugh Darrow, I knew I recognized you! I saw you in _Time Magazine_ somewhere after you won the Nobel Prize for… Biology, was it?" Hermione exclaimed. Darrow smiled just a little wider.

"That's right. Although I believe David referred to me as an 'ex-pat' when you first met." He turned to the younger looking man (although Darrow was actually younger than Sarif) who had the decency to look sheepish. Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"You're a wizard?" She asked, surprised that someone of such prominence in the biotechnological world would be magical. Darrow's smile slipped a notch.

"Once. My obsession with robotics estranged me from my magical peers and teachers so much that I left Hogwarts to attend Scaitcliffe and later Stowe, both to pursue my dream and repair my relationship with my father; he did not look fondly upon my gift. As a result, I rejected my magical teachings. But now Hermione, as the first magical augmented human in existence, as David said, you will be the vanguard for humankind's future, and the one to usher in magical and Mundane harmony." Darrow proclaimed, and Hermione was tempted to strike a heroic pose before speaking again.

"How exactly am I going to 'usher in magical and Mundane harmony'? If anything, my state will make that even harder, if possible at all." Hermione pointed out. Darrow's smile had returned.

"You are friends with Harry Potter, no?" Darrow asked. Hermione nodded. "And he will support you in your every endeavour?" Another nod. "Then that will make the merging go somewhat smoother. David, why don't you take it from here?" And Sarif launched into his plan to- after destroying Voldemort- merge the worlds and bring about a harmonious future.

A future that would see Hermione as the best of both worlds, and its mother.

* * *

><p><strong>And there we have it. While this is not the first Harry Potter x Deus Ex: Human Revolution crossover, it's not as odd as the other one; I couldn't read past the first four or five chapters before having to stop and go 'WTF' (Biased? Me? No…) Just as a note, the two martial arts styles Hermione knows are Capoeira and Muay Thai. Anyway…<strong>

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Peace,**

**DR**


	6. Puppet of the Princes

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 6: Puppet of the Princes**

* * *

><p>'<em>It's not the best turn of luck I've had, but it's a start.' <em>Harry thought as he drew out the miniature model of the dragon he was to face in the First Task: The Welsh Green. He would also be going first. Fleur had drawn the Chinese Fireball and would go second; Krum would be third against the Swedish Short-Snout, and Cedric would finish the event against the Horntail.

Despite his brief sprite of happiness at his luck turning around, Harry still felt sick to his stomach as the cannon fired. That was his signal to exit the tent and begin his run. The voice of Ludo Bagman and the roar of the crowd became dull and flat as Harry stared into the terrifying, yellow eyes of the great wyrm before him. Its green scales gleamed like the finest of emeralds in the autumn sun. On the rear of its head and dorsal surface, web-like crests rose as an intruder approached its nest. Behind it, the fan on its tail whooshed back and forth. Yet despite his presence, the dragon did nothing. Unusual.

It had been at least thirty seconds, and the crowd was becoming restless. "It appears Mister Potter is kicking off his task by attempting a staredown with the dragon!" Bagman crowed to a laughing crowd. Harry barely heard him. There was something keeping him rooted to the spot; something that made him forget how to move.

Something that kept his eyes locked with that of the dragon's. He didn't know why he couldn't tear his eyes away. Those slitted orbs stared back at him, and unless he was going crazy, contained something that could have been… curiosity…

…Was the dragon _studying_ him?

Harry did not know what to think as he pondered that possibility. But as he tried to fathom another explanation, the more likely it seemed that the great winged beast was analyzing him from different angles instead of simply waving its head threateningly. It was making him dizzy. The edges of all the objects in his vision were blurring. Why were the muted colours around him suddenly becoming so vibrant…?

The dragon opened its maw and unleashed not a cascade of fire, but a rich green cloud of gas. Harry kicked himself mentally as he gasped, just as the vapour engulfed him. The scent was a combination of metal, like the smell of a Sickle; a fragrance somewhat like lavender, but with what could only be thought of as a poisonous edge; and a very faint combination of fresh ashes and blood.

Harry felt like he was dreaming. His body was numb, and his surroundings were as vibrant as a watercolour painting. The crowds were silent and… completely still. He moved his head around sluggishly to survey the entire stadium, and found that no matter where he looked, nothing moved. Nothing except…

Harry whipped his head back to goggle at the dragon that had poisoned him, and almost fell over. As he regained his balance, he saw yet another mind-boggling sight: The dragon's lips had drawn up near the mandibular joint, making it look as though it were grinning at him. Its eyes were no longer curious, but _amused_. He tensed when it opened its mouth again, but no fire or fumes exited. Instead…

"**Brrreathe deep **_**mor**_**tal. I would have you hear me well, so let these **_**vapours**_** fillll your lungs."** The dragon _uttered_, its maw moving strangely to form the masculine-sounding, echoing words. His strangely inflected voice was oily and rather snooty, not unlike the tone of a pureblood aristocrat. But unlike those men with inflated egos, Harry could sense something behind the dragon's voice that the wizards did not possess: Power. Feral, unstoppable, riveting power. Harry's bones felt as though they were vibrating as the dragon finished issuing his command. And that was when the questions came.

"What- what is this? What have you done to me?" Harry babbled, his words fast and sloppy. Fear of the unknown was increasing, and his heart beat a violent tattoo against his red-robed chest. "Have you poisoned me?" He demanded. The dragon snorted quietly.

"**In a sense, but no more **_**poi**_**soned than a **_**fool**_** after too much **_**wine**_**." **It answered in that voice that shook him to the core. **"I did **_**not**_** wish those ple**_**beians**_** to be privy to what I will **_**say**_** to you, so I have… **_**elevated**_** you, so to ssspeak."** It continued. Harry was not eased by the dragon's words.

"**You have quessstions, mortal; they **_**burn**_** in your eyes as plain as day. I will **_**ans**_**wer, if I find them… **_**pertinent**_**." **It said, bringing its wings closer together and lowering its head as though it were getting comfortable. Harry stared dumbly for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts enough to ask this miraculously speaking dragon that breathed gas something.

"How are you able to speak? For that matter, what kind of dragon are you?" He finally managed.

"**I am not a dragon at allll. I have **_**chosen**_** this beast as my **_**ava**_**taaar for the time being. Regrettably, I cannot descend to your **_**plane**_** of exissstence." **The not-dragon growled in annoyance. Harry did not know whether or not to be getting nervous.

"Descend to my plane of… wait, are you saying… you're a god?" He gasped. The dragon bobbed its scaly head, the crest continuing to wave.

"**Until now, there was no **_**word**_** amongst you mortals for my kind. I am very much **_**like**_** a god, in that I exissst out**_**side**_** of time and wield powers **_**unimaginable**_**." **He affirmed.

"Er… What should I call you?" Harry mumbled timidly, ducking his head to prevent looking into the eyes of the 'god's' avatar.

"**I am the **_**pus**_** in the wound. Of course, proper ones will curl their **_**noses**_**, but it is pus that drinks foul humours and re**_**stores**_** the blood. I am Peryite, Daedric prince of tasks, order, and **_**pestilence**_**." **Said the self-titled Peryite.

Harry was completely thrown. All of the strange happenings that he had encountered in his time among the magic world seemed insignificant now, as he reluctantly raised his head to stare into the eyes of Peryite's avatar. He could think of no other reason for a god-like being to appear before him, other than to order him to do something. So that was exactly what he asked.

"To what do I owe the honour, Lord Peryite?" Harry asked with as much reverence as he could muster.

"**We have been **_**watching**_** you for some time, mortal. The decisions you have made have **_**intrigued**_** and impressed us, but you are faaar from ready to face the **_**dark**_**ness the one you call Destiny has prepared for you. **_**I **_**was elected to appear here, and inform you of our inter**_**vention**_**." **Peryite's avatar shifted to a more comfortable position and stared pointedly at a flat rock. Harry took this as an invitation to sit and plopped down.

"What destiny?" Harry wondered aloud.

"**The one who calls himself **_**Vol**_**demort has planned to return to life. Before he was defeated by you, he had **_**steeped**_** himself in lich-craft and severed his soul six times over. His pathetic claims of immortality are an **_**affront**_** to us true immortals, and thusss; we will bestow upon you- the one who has been **_**marked**_** to end him- our blessings to end this abomination." **Peryite continued.

While he was by no means the smartest wizard alive, Harry knew that such an offering could not possibly be made without any strings attached. "What would you ask in return?" He questioned. The dragon's jaws tightened in that awkward grin.

"**You have some intelligence, this is gooood. In**_**deed**_**, I would not grant you a boon for nothing in **_**return**_**. Neither will my brothers-in-arms. They will ask a **_**task **_**of you in exchange for a gift." **The scaly lord leered. Harry grew uneasy. He wasn't sure he liked the tone of Peryite's voice.

"What would you ask of me, my Lord?" He repeated.

"**I **_**want**_** you to take this…" **Peryite paused as a purplish void opened out of nowhere and a small phial of green liquid deposited itself at Harry's feet. **"… And **_**douse**_** the fire in the den of the snakes." **He finished. Harry took the phial and shook it about.

"What will it do?" Harry asked, fearing that he was being asked to unleash something deadly on the Slytherins. While he would not mind seeing Malfoy and his ilk falling ill to something, he did not want them dead. To compound that, he did not dislike the other Slytherins; he was simply indifferent to them. The avatar's eyes narrowed.

"**An impertinent question. Either carry out my will, or do **_**not**_**. Should you refuse, the deal shan't be struck, and you, puny mortal, shall **_**suffer**_** in your effort to ful**_**fill**_** your destiny. A destiny scarred by incredible loss shadowing its conclusion." **Peryite snapped. Panicking at the thought of angering this god… Daedric prince… _whatever_, Harry shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry! I'll do it!" He blurted. The dragon snorted.

"**Good. But just to **_**ensure**_** you do not believe that this is some trickery, I shall grant you my boon as a token of good faith." **Peryite raised one of 'his' wings as Harry looked hopeful. **"But be **_**warned**_**: If you do not bestow my **_**blessing**_** within one week's time, I shall revoke my boon and you shall be left to **_**face**_** Voldemort alone." **Peryite hung his head to glare at Harry as stonily as he could, given his current form. It worked.

"_**Do**_** we have an understanding?" **It was less of a question, and more of Peryite _telling_ him to accept the deal. Harry nodded, a little too nervous to phonate.

"**Then allow me to grant you my boon: The **_**Spellbreaker**_**." **Peryite's avatar opened its mouth and golden smoke began to slither out. It coalesced into a cyclonic ball, slowly flattening and elongating until minute details began to form. The entire process took nearly thirty seconds, the end result being an oddly shaped shield. Harry tilted his head as he drank in the sight of the divine (?) object. It was unlike any shield he had ever seen before. Were he to liken it to something he _had _seen before, that something would be an oblong satellite dish. From a circular hub in the middle of the shield, golden rings interspersed the parchment-hued metal. Small segments had been cut out of where the twelve, three, six and nine positions on a clock would be, making the shield resemble an upside-down teardrop-shaped fan as well as a satellite dish. A bar with three spheres shot out from the cut out six position. The shield- Spellbreaker- floated towards him as it turned around, presenting its grip to him. As Harry's gloved fingers closed around it, the shield stopped floating and Harry strained momentarily to hoist the surprisingly light shield.

"**The Spellbreaker not only **_**shields**_ **you from physical harm, but will abate **_**any**_** magics as well. You shall use it to **_**complete **_**this dog-and-**_**pony **_**show the plebeians have forced you into. **_**Ensure**_** there are many flashing lights a**_**long**_** the way." **Peryite raised himself up. **"Are you ready?"** He asked. Harry raised the shield and the air before it began to shimmer.

"As I'll ever be, my Lord." Harry affirmed. And like turning on a television, the world returned to its normal speed and colour saturation, the crowds as noisy and dynamic as they had been before the conversation between man and Daedra.

* * *

><p>"How- what… Mr. Potter has somehow acquired a shield and- OH!" Bagman exclaimed as the Welsh Green spat out a jet of fire straight at the boy. He felt a spark of shock when the orange cloud of death curved away from the large golden shield Harry was hiding behind. The Gryffindor dove to the side and fired off a high-powered <em>Flipendo<em> jinx. It hit the dragon in the face, making it pause for a moment. That gave Harry a moment to close the distance between the beast and himself. He hafted the shield and used the edge to bash the part of the dragon's right wing that supported it. Being the smallest of the four, the Welsh Green would have been the easiest to unbalance, and that was exactly what Harry did as the wing flared out and the wyrm stumbled. It lost its bead on Harry, who let off a bright flare and took the few seconds he had bought to dive forward, into the nest and snatch up the golden egg.

"HE'S GOT IT! By Jove, Mr. Potter's got the golden egg! And all within the span of less than a minute! I can barely believe this!" Bagman cried over the roars of the crowd.

* * *

><p>As Harry high-tailed it away from the Welsh Green, he spared it one last look. As the handlers rushed out to see to the unnaturally calm (in their experience) dragon, it shot him one last piercingly yellow glare. With a glance at the surprisingly light shield on his left arm, Harry knew that that gesture was Peryite's last way of saying 'Carry out my task, or our agreement is revoked.' As he entered the tent, he was met by the gobsmacked faces of his three fellow competitors.<p>

"… What the… how?" Cedric managed to bleat. Fleur was simply pale as sheet. Krum, still stony, had a small amount of respect in his eyes. As he wondered what exactly to say, he recalled his sudden stroke of fortune, both in being selected to face the weakest dragon, and entering into a pact with a group of god-like beings. While having to cater to the whims of more than one Daedric prince was not the most positive aspect of his luck, it clearly came with some perks.

"I guess I'm just lucky, Ced." Harry shrugged with a smile. "I guess I'm just lucky."

* * *

><p><strong>And that's a wrap for another installment of The Teaser. This time, for those who are still confused, this is an HP x Skyrim crossover. I wrote Peryite's speech patterns like that on purpose, because in the game, he inflects his voice a lot like I've written. It's probably just me, but I think that he sounds like the Cheshire Cat from the original animated 'Alice in Wonderland' so use that voice as a reference.<strong>

**The basic plot of the story is Harry will be carrying out tasks for the Daedric princes in exchange for help against Voldemort in the form of their various trinkets. If you can't grasp how awesome I find this idea, look up the fifteen princes on 'The Elder Scrolls Wiki' after you…**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Suggest possible tasks the princes assign Harry**

**Until next time,**

**DR**


	7. Dream On

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 7: Dream On**

* * *

><p>"Alright Harry, seriously," Parvati sighed. "What about the Ball has got you so smiley?"<p>

Though it was not voiced, the other three Champions and their partners wondered the exact same thing. In the three weeks leading up to the Yule Ball, after a short absence, Harry had gone around with a pleased look on his face. The look was very unusual on him. When anyone asked him what had him in such a good mood, he would simply smile wider and say "You'll see,"

And that was exactly what he did. Looking over at his beautiful date, Harry squeezed her hand gently. Putting on his most charming smile, he said "Just wait. You'll see in a few minutes." Parvati sighed.

"I'm a little worried Harry," Hermione stated. "I've never seen you like this before. It… I really hate to say this, but it's like you've got something planned that won't be good for people." Cedric, who had been put off by his fellow Champion's attitude before, was now outright scared. Trust Hermione Granger to say just the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Harry looked at his surprisingly hot friend and clutched his left breast. "Hermione! Do you really think that I'd stoop that low? I'm just trying to make the night as enjoyable as possible." He said with feigned hurt. His seven fellow students made their own separate gestures of intrigue as the youngest Champion gave what appeared to be a vague clue about his plans. Any questions they might have followed up with died in their throats as the doors to the Great Hall opened. As they marched forward, Harry smiled gleefully.

The million dollars in Galleons he had spent on this night were going to be worth it.

His smile continued as the Champions and their dates took places on the dance floor. As he looked around, he noted that the expressions on the faces of his housemates were generally of shock at seeing how nicely Hermione cleaned up. The exception was Ron, who looked rather sour and was ignoring Padma completely. While that did worry Harry for a moment, he reassured himself that by the end of the night, everybody would have had fun.

As Harry took his spot in front of Parvati, he noted movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking over, he saw the tiny form of Dobby the house elf scuttling up to him.

"Master Harry Potter!" Dobby greeted him in a stage whisper.

"Hello Dobby," Harry greeted in return. "Is everything alright?" Parvati and many others looked on the scene with queer expressions on their faces.

"Yes sir," Dobby nodded. "Master Harry Potter's plan is going smoothly." He proceeded to pop away without another word. Parvati was starting to look annoyed.

"Alright Potter, out with it." She growled. "You've played coy for three weeks, but whatever this plan of yours is will _not_ spoil this night for me. I want to know what it is, right now." She ordered. Not cowed in the slightest, Harry just cocked an eyebrow.

"You're hotter when you're angry, you know that?" He said cheekily. Parvati actually blushed. "Stop worrying about my plan, okay? I guarantee you that it'll make the night that much more fun. Heh, even Ron might enjoy himself." Harry added more as an afterthought. Parvati heard him and twisted around.

"Padma's not going to be happy by the end of the night." She predicted softly.

"You might be surprised." Harry countered mildly. Any retort Parvati might have had was cut off when Dumbledore, wearing robes rippling like quicksilver, took to the stage and tapped the magical equivalent of a microphone.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he began, 'Twinkle Mode' cranked up to eleven. "First, I must say you all look spectacular tonight. And to those who have branched out and asked one from another school to attend with you, well done. It is with great pride that I officially welcome each of you, as well as our dignitaries from the Ministry-" Dumbledore nodded at the small table composed of Ludo Bagman, Percy Weasley, and another few people Harry didn't know "-to the Triwizard Tournament's Yule Ball. Now that we have all supped, it is time to begin the main event. Champions, if you will take to the floor please?" The Champions and their dates quickly moved into position. Despite many a dance lesson, Harry still felt rather nervous about holding a witch so intimately.

"Without further adieu, I would like to welcome our entertainers for the evening, the Weird Sisters!" Dumbledore finished with a great sweep of his arms, prompting wild applause as the stage lit up. Harry's smile became a cheeky grin as the four most famous magical musicians failed to appear after a good fifteen seconds.

"The Weird Sisters!" Dumbledore said again, louder this time. Still nothing. The students were starting to mutter amongst themselves. He heard one Beauxbatons student remark that the instruments were all wrong. What were all those odd cello-looking things on the stage? What was that thing that had piano keys but no body? Fleur, Roger, Cedric, Cho, Hermione, Viktor and Parvati all turned to gaze at Harry, who was close to laughing at the look on Dumbledore's face.

"Harry?" Cedric asked cautiously.

"What 'ave you done?" Fleur growled. Harry's grin only grew wider as he pulled away from Parvati.

"Prepare to be amazed," he said in a stage whisper as he bounded for the stage. Dumbledore turned to face him as he leaped up the steps.

"Harry? Do you have something to say about this?" He asked gently. Harry heard the hardened undertone in his voice though. Several of the other professors were fixing him with unimpressed looks.

He nodded quickly. "Just leave this up to me, sir. Everything's under control." Before the Headmaster could respond, Harry strode to the mic.

"Um, hi everyone." He started lamely. "… There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just be straight with you." He stopped to take a deep breath.

"The Weird Sisters aren't here tonight; I paid them not to come." Harry stopped as outraged exclamations started flying at him. The consternation of his fellow Champions and their dates were nothing compared to the burning glares of his professors.

"Before you all start trying to hex me for ruining the night," he finally spoke over the racket. "I've been planning for this for almost a month. I mean sure, the Weird Sisters are awesome," Harry actually found their music to be quite annoying, "but we could do better."

"Like you'd know who's better than the Weird Sisters, Potter!" A familiar and hated voice piped up. Harry spotted the shock of platinum hair easily, standing to the right of the stage. He knew he would get upbraided for this later, but he was getting so tired of Draco Malfoy's shit that he didn't care anymore.

"Nobody asked you Draco, now shut up before I come over there and ram this microphone stand up your ass." Harry dismissed to gasps and laughs from the crowd. Snape looked particularly incensed.

"I know what a lot of you are thinking: 'What band is more popular or talented than the Weird Sisters?' Well students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, are you in for an epic night. Because not only are you going to experience an evening of awesome music, you'll be getting a little taste of how the Muggle half lives and parties." _That_ definitely piques the crowd's interest.

"Mr. Potter!" Minerva McGonagall snapped. "You brought Muggles into this castle?"

"They're well aware of us, professor. Pipe down." Harry looked to his left. There, in the shadows leading backstage, they stood. Harry flashed the rock 'n roll sign and received thumbs up and a similar sign in return. As he returned his attention to the students, he grinned slyly and the lights on the stage dimmed.

"And with that ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce tonight's entertainment." He said in his best 'epic announcer voice'. "Since 1973, nine of their eleven albums have gone platinum and have had fifteen singles hit the top forty of the United States' Billboard Hot One Hundred. Hailing from Boston, Massachusetts, they have been called 'America's Greatest Rock and Roll Band' and speaking for the United Kingdom, I humbly agree." Harry paused to survey his crowd. The purebloods and professors had lost track of what Harry was saying when he mentioned 'platinum albums', 'singles' and whatever this billboard was. Many of the halfbloods, Muggleborns and foreign students however, had started to get an idea of who would be stepping out onto the stage, and were getting excited. Excellent.

He raised his voice to pump the crowd up that much more. "So ladies and gentlemen of England, France, Russia and everywhere in between, I hope you're ready to rock 'n roll! Performing live, boys and girls _are you ready_?!" Harry cupped his ear to better hear the yells of 'We're ready!' and 'Yeah!' and 'Whoo!'

"That's what I like to hear! Make some noise for the one..._ the only_... AEROSMITH!" Harry roared.

The crowd absolutely exploded.

Harry was almost deafened by the screams as he launched a spell into the air. The ball of light exploded into shimmering red and gold sparks, coalescing into the familiar winged 'A' and squiggly writing characteristic of the Aerosmith logo. Harry didn't know how it was possible, but the screams and yells somehow became louder as the iconic rock stars strutted out onto the stage. Steven Tyler, tall, skinny, with his giant mouth and shaggy hair, waved a brightly-coloured scarf around as he walked up to the mic. Joe Perry, with his hair exploding from his head, waved to the crowd as he picked up a guitar with an American flag on it. Joey Kramer pumped his fists, drumsticks clutched firmly in his hands as he made a beeline for the drums. Tom Hamilton, wearing an orange suit of all things, jumped into the air and whooped as he went for a bass guitar. Finally, Brad Whitford with his wavy blonde hair shining in the spotlight gave the rock 'n roll sign as he picked up his guitar.

With his part complete, Harry did a quick round of the stage, giving high-fives to all of the band members. Steven grinned as he held his hand as high as he could, making Harry jump for it. Accomplishing the goal, Harry jumped off the stage and made his way back to the Champions. Viktor, Roger Davies and Cedric- being purebloods- had an excuse for not being as hyped as almost everyone else. Fleur and Cho must have been fans, because they were jumping up and down while screaming at the top of their lungs. Fleur's allure was flicking on and off, too. Hermione was staring at him with her mouth open. Parvati looked like she was torn between yelling at him or being impressed.

"See? I _told_ you I'd make the night more fun." Harry proclaimed with a smug grin.

"Harry, I… what… when- _how_ did you get _Aerosmith_ of all the bands in the world to come here?!" Hermione demanded. It seemed that she had regained her ability to speak.

"So you're not a fan?" Harry asked, buffing his nails on his dress robes.

"What? No- yes, I'm a fan, but answer my question! This is a serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy!" she snapped.

"Okay, in order then. One, I got them to come here with a little bit of begging and a million dollar paycheque, two-hundred-fifty grand in advance, cash. Two, Steven Tyler and Brad Whitford have both dated witches and told their bandmates. I think Steven might have said his son Taj is a wizard at some point when we first met. I had Dobby and Winky deal with security and transport for the whole thing, so no harm done." Harry explained quickly. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but no sound was coming out.

"C'mon Hermione, look at the positive side: You're seeing Aerosmith in concert _for free_. Stop trying to upbraid me and enjoy yourse- oh! They're starting! C'mon Parvati!" Harry grabbed Parvati's hand and pulled her into position. Steven had just finished tying his scarf around the mic stand and started to speak into it.

"Hogwarts!" He barked louder than Harry could ever yell. "Are you ready to rock?!" Another round of affirmative yells answered him. "ALRIIIIIIIGHT! Hit it boys!" He pointed to his drummer who smacked his sticks four times. Brad started strumming a slow, flat (F minor) riff characteristic of Aerosmith's first big hit. Another roar of approval went up through the students as the Champions started to sway and step to the beat. After a rapid riff by Joe, Steven started to croon.

"_Every ti-ime that I look in the mirror,  
><em>_All these li-ines on my face getting' clearer  
><em>_The past is go-oooone  
><em>_It went by, like dusk to dawn  
><em>_Isn't that the way?  
><em>_Everybody's got the dues in life to pay."_

By the second line, Harry had started mouthing the lyrics along with Steven. Parvati smiled.

"You like Aerosmith a lot, don't you," She stated. Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"What gave me away? The fact that I paid them to play Hogwarts?" He drawled. His date giggled.

"I'm only teasing Harry." She said. "It's odd. Lavender never mentioned Aerosmith when she visits during the summer." Parvati turned thoughtful.

"She doesn't seem to be a rock 'n roll kind of bird." Harry surmised.

"I guess not." Parvati shrugged.

By the middle of the first interlude, many couples from all three schools and even a few of the teachers were out swaying to the deep lyrics and notes of _Dream On_. At some point, a few of the students that had gone stag pulled out their wands and lit the tips. They were swinging them back and forth as one would swing a lighter at a Muggle rock concert. One or two people were actually swinging lighters. More and more students separated from their partners and started clapping to the beat, or just started singing along. Even a few purebloods were getting into it.

When the song ended, everybody went wild again. It was hard to tell from his point, but Harry thought that the band looked pleased as they thanked the crowd.

"Thank you everyone! You having a good time so far?" Steven asked. The roar of approval went up. "Well get ready, cuz the night's just getting started! I want to thank our benefactor, Harry Potter for bringing us here tonight. Harry, get up here! Give him a hand, people!" A wave of claps went up as Harry ascended the stage.

"Help me sing the next one, will you? Oh come on!" Steven grabbed his arm when he looked like he was about to shrink back off of the stage. "I know you know this one!"

Harry wondered what song Steven was referring to until he started humming along with Joe to a faster guitar rhythm. His mojo started to pump when Tom came in with the bass. After Steven screamed "Yeah!" he handed the mic off to Harry. The Boy Who Lived had practiced singing just a little bit over the summer, and had fortuitously stumbled across a spell that could make your voice sound however you wanted. He muttered it quietly with the intent of getting a larger tonal range. And not a moment to soon.

"_Workin' like a dog for the boss man (Oh!)  
><em>_Workin' for the company (Oh yeah!)  
><em>_I'm bettin' on the dice I'm tossin' (Oh!)  
><em>_I'm gonna have a fantasy (Oh yeah!)"_

Harry had to admit, he didn't sound half bad. Granted, no record company would sign him if he was to start a band, but at least he was hitting the right notes or getting close to them. Steven pressed up to add his voice to the second half of the first verse.

"_But where am I gonna look?  
><em>_They tell me that love is blind  
><em>_I really need a girl like an open book  
><em>_To read between the li-ines"_

On his other side, Brad leaned in to lend his voice to the chorus. Joe, Tom and Joey sang into their own mics.

"_Love in an elevator,  
><em>_Livin' it up when I'm goin' down  
><em>_Love in an elevator,  
><em>_Livin' it up 'til I hit the ground"_

Steven and Brad backed off, leaving Harry to sing solo once again.

"_Jackie's in the elevator (Oh!)  
><em>_Lingerie second floor (Oh yeah!)  
><em>_She said 'Can I see you later (Oh!)  
><em>_And love you just a little more?' (Oh yeah!)"_

Harry was almost distracted when he saw Hermione's periwinkle dress out of the corner of his eye. She had been led up onto the stage by Tom and was leaning in to sing with him.

"_I kinda hope we get stuck  
><em>_Nobody gets out alive.  
><em>_She said 'I'll show you how to fax  
><em>_In the mailroom, honey  
><em>_And have you home by fi-ive"_

"_Love in an elevator,  
><em>_Livin' it up when I'm goin' down  
><em>_Love in an elevator,  
><em>_Lovin' it up 'til I hit the ground"_

Steven yanked the mic his way to deliver a couple lines by himself.

"_In the air, in the air, honey one more time  
><em>_Now IT AIN'T FAIR!"_

He returned the mic and the four of them sang together.

"_Love in an elevator,  
><em>_Lovin' it up when I'm goin do-own,"_

Harry pointed at Joe just as he went into his guitar solo. He and Hermione stared to dance as well as they could improvise. Needless to say, that wasn't particularly good. Their awkward moves got a couple of laughs and Brad looked like he was having difficulty continuing to play because he was trying so hard not to laugh. Luckily, Harry managed to sing the rest of the lyrics and even threw in a suggestive gesture upon singing the final lines of the song. As the roar of applause went up, Harry and Hermione bowed and headed back to their dates.

* * *

><p>From then on, the band serenaded the young witches and wizards with a platter of songs that made them one of the most well known bands in the world. The couples who stayed together were more fans of Aerosmith's romantic ballads or more sedate songs like <em>Kings and Queens <em>and _Cryin'_. They even treated their audience with a brand new song, _Deuces are Wild_. On a different vein, their more driving songs like _Let the Music Do the Talking_, _Rag Doll_ and _Walk this Way_ were just as well received. At some point during _Young Lust_, the students had hoisted Professor Flitwick up and were surfing him around. The little part-goblin was clearly enjoying himself, if his gleeful laugh was any way to tell. Soon after, a handful of students got up on stage and jumped off to surf on the crowd. Harry did not participate, electing to carry his fellow students around. When he guitar riffs slowed down, he tried to stick with Parvati, but he didn't turn down Hermione or Padma when they asked to dance with him. He had even asked Madam Pomfrey to dance for _Cryin'_. The rest of the night passed in a blaze of sound and lights dancing to the tune of _Toys in the Attic_,_ Eat the Rich_ and _F.I.N.E_ (this particularly crude song left many of the teachers and more proper students gaping, wondering how anyone could write something so rude).

After belting out _Livin' on the Edge_, the band took a break to rest. As they sampled the small snacks trotted around by the house elves and drank a couple of beers, they took time to talk to their fans among the students and answer the questions from the more inquisitive purebloods. Harry almost had to break up a fight when a Ravenclaw seventh year asked Joe a question far too condescendingly. Quite a few students asked for photographs or autographs. Harry started laughing when Fleur, unable to produce something for the band to sign, reached up her dress, pulled down her baby blue cotton panties and asked them to sign them. All five rockers, who had probably seen anything imaginable, looked more than just a little stunned. After the swarming groupies died down, Harry raised an eyebrow when Dumbledore started talking quietly with Steven.

Aerosmith resumed the Yule Ball with _Back in the Saddle_, _Same Old Song and Dance_,_ Mama Kin_, _Uncle Salty_, and after walking off the stage, performed _Crazy_ as their encore when they were encouraged back out.

"Thank you, Hogwarts!" Steven barked, blowing a kiss to their screaming fans. "Keep an ear out; Dumbledore said he might invite us back in the future. Rock on!" He gave the rock sign, and everyone in the hall returned it. And with that, Aerosmith made their retreat backstage where Dobby, Winky and a handful of other elves were waiting with the remainder of their payment and transport back to Boston.

Back in the Great Hall, Harry turned to his fellow Champions who were breathing heavily and covered in different degrees of sweat. With that cheeky smile he had been sporting for a month, he raised his arms to the side.

"So," he began, barely able to hear himself. "Did you have fun?

* * *

><p><strong>And here's yet another random epiphany I just had to share with the world. I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything quite like this in any alternate GoF fics I've read. Have you? Let me know when you:<strong>

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Let me know what your favourite Aerosmith song is (if any)**

**-5- Let me know if you've ever been to one of their concerts, and what it was like**

**I almost got to go to one in 2005, but they cancelled the tour before they got to my home town because Tom Hamilton needed throat surgery. My favourite song is **_**Deuces are Wild**_**.**

**Rock on,**

**DR**

**\m/. .\m/**


	8. Standing Together

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Alright ladies and gent's I've officially transformed 'The Teaser' into an archive for ALL of my flights of fancy, so expect a lot of different media.**

**Chapter 8: Standing Together**

* * *

><p><em>New Hong Kong, Shanxi<em>

_2157 CE_

Ferox Duellator, proud quaestor of the Turian Hierarchy's Ninth Legion, gripped his Phaeston assault rifle just a little tighter as his unit quietly plodded through the torn up streets of the primitive world. Not so long ago, he would have walked with a small amount of swagger in his step. But not so long ago, he had assumed that he and his fellow soldiers would be in for a short campaign.

It had been just over one month ago that the 17th Patrol Flotilla had happened across a small group of boxy ships tampering with the (then) dormant Relay 314. Like any good officer witnessing someone committing a capital crime, the Flotilla's captain had ordered the vessels destroyed (which all but one were) and the perpetrators' found to face justice. Once the 17th had traveled through the relay, they had bore witness to a garden world, guarded by a small fleet of twelve ships. They were a uniform black, with a generally rectangular main body and a pair of diagonal front-swept wings/engines obviously designed with function in mind, instead of form. They also possessed no Element Zero or kinetic barrier signatures, as reported by the sole surviving frigate's crew.

What the surviving crewmen failed to say was that these 'primitive' ships- the largest of which had been tentatively tagged a heavy cruiser- still packed one hell of a punch. Even the forty-ship-strong Eleventh Fleet, which had been sent in for a suppression operation, had suffered heavy losses. The two hundred meter frigate analogues, which were surprisingly agile, even with their extensive armor plating, had immediately moved into knife fight range. Slats had opened on the ship's wings to reveal six missile pods per side. From the ventral and dorsal surfaces, multiple magnetic accelerators had emerged and began to hammer the Turian frigates with slugs containing some sort of super-heated gas or liquid. Their armor plating allowed them to shrug off anything the screen of fighters threw at them, including Disruptor torpedoes. Many smaller CIWS turrets had also emerged from the frigates superstructure to shoot down fighters and ordnance. The frigates' weakness though, was the need to get in close to be effective. Their armor, while formidable, buckled after one or sometimes two shots from a cruiser's main gun. A dreadnought could destroy them in a single hit.

The alien light cruiser analogues were designed as enlarged versions of the frigates, with a few key differences. The most obvious was the presence of a spinal main gun. Turian doctrine had, for at least one thousand years, dictated that cruisers were throw-away ships; more powerful than a frigate, yes, but whose main purpose was to divert fire from the much more valued dreadnoughts. The mistake of the Eleventh however, was believing that these primitives shared those beliefs. The light cruisers had nearly double the durability of the frigates, as proven when the dreadnought _Spear of Palaven_ failed to destroy it with a round from its main gun.

While the hull of the ship in question was indeed ruptured, the pissed off ship had turned its attention to the dreadnought, hanging behind the ships of the Eleventh as an artillery unit. A pale blue glow had illuminated the muzzle of the cruiser's main gun before a tremendously bright projectile had shot out towards the offending Turian capital ship. The round could not have been traveling any faster than 0.75% of light speed, because the _Spear_ had managed to manoeuvre out of the way. But what the round lacked in speed, it made up for with an ability to _track its intended target_. The white-hot slug had curved to follow the dreadnought and slammed into the junction between its wing and body. The kinetic barrier around the ship had stopped the impact, but as later analysis confirmed, condensed super-heated plasma did not have to physically hit its target to cause damage.

"Hull integrity compromised on decks four through seven! Bulkheads offline!"

"Fires in starboard crew quarters and armory!"

"Kinetic barriers down to thirty-seven percent!"

_That_ had been a shocker. Fortunately for the Hierarchy, they learned that there was a very long recharge time (fifteen seconds) in between torpedo discharges. Enough for their own frigates and fighters to harass the cruisers.

There were two types of heavy cruiser analogues. The first was visually the same model as the frigate, but instead, it was six hundred metres, much more heavily armoured and sported _two _plasma torpedo main guns. The second type though, was just plain _bizarre_. Its body was significantly wider than its brother's, it possessed far more CIWS guns and had no torpedo launchers, either in the form of a main gun or broadside-type. Instead, from an opening on its aft surface, it had spewed out fifty single-occupant fighter craft, which swarmed the Eleventh like so many angry insects. The fighter craft, shaped instead like arrowheads, shot through the cruiser line, dodged the frigates, blew through the meager Turian fighter screen, and swarmed the second dreadnought, _Oma Ker's Hammer_. The GARDIAN array, too slow to prioritize so many targets, managed to take down just over twelve of the fighters, who were incessant in pounding the mighty ship with explosive rounds and miniature plasma torpedoes. While possessing a much smaller yield than those of the capital ships, they still caused melting on the _Hammer_'s hull and eventually stripped away the shields, slowly tearing chunks off their target. The dreadnought soon lost power and began to drift.

But despite the staggering ferocity of the primitive fleet, the Eleventh had overwhelmed them. Duellator, who had been aboard the frigate _Stalwart_, could not help but feel a small bloom of respect for these aliens. For their twelve technologically inferior (for the most part) ships, they had taken sixteen frigates, four cruisers and a dreadnought with them to meet the Dark Spirit. Only fourteen frigates, four cruisers and the heavily damaged _Sword of Palaven_ remained to commence with the pacification.

The ground war was when the operation took a turn for the worse.

During the space skirmish, the civilians of the world must have moved to secure locations or somehow been evacuated, because the only aliens found by the Turians had been the ones shooting at them. Said soldiers were seen only in squads containing four to seven members, most wielding boxy weapons that still used chemically-powered ballistic munitions; weapon types that had not been seen in Citadel space for over two thousand years. But the primitive state of these weapons, which Duellator had originally thought to be a weakness, actually proved to be a strength. Kinetic barriers worked to deflect projectiles traveling between 0.5 and 1.5% of light speed, because that's just how fast modern projectiles were, end of story. But these chemical-powered rounds traveled so slowly (relatively speaking), that there was a roughly 50-50 chance that the shields would not activate. And when hundreds of explosive rounds were flying at you at a rate of 900 per minute, your survival odds weren't looking good. When the underside-slung grenade launcher came into play, those odds got even worse.

Some of the aliens instead carried tube-like guns mounted on harnesses. These guns fired _even faster_ than the boxy rifles, had incredibly deep clips, and clearly had some sort of visual enhancement module, owing to the fact that soldiers could be tracked, suppressed, or shot in cover. The Turian platoons very quickly learned that where there was an alien squad, a sniper always followed. Even if their kinetic barriers went up, the sniper's rounds still got through. But what Duellator found most unsettling- and barbaric- about the aliens was the occasional soldier making use of a _flamethrower_. Coordinated efforts by these units had burned vast stretches of forest down around other units, and smoked them out of occupied buildings in the towns.

Yet the Hierarchy's strategy of highly disciplined strength-in-numbers tactics prevailed. While the uncannily Asari-like aliens' hit-and-run guerrilla tactics did indeed work, the Turian war machine proved too strong to be brought down by bug bite warfare. These 'Grunts' as Duellator had suggested calling them, had grudgingly earned some respect for their tenacity.

Then the 'Saboteurs' and the 'Mages' started showing up.

These two new species of alien, working in concert with the Grunts, had given the Turians several pauses after they joined the fight. As their monikers suggested, they relied on traps, dirty tricks and strange powers to put down their foes. The first indication that the Saboteurs had started fighting was when a centurion in Duellator's company had triggered an extremely high-yield mine. The burst of plasma had disintegrated four soldiers and severely burned nine others. The soldiers had stopped to scan for enemy contacts, but found none, and ensured that they be more vigilant in scanning for mines. But the Saboteurs had not stopped there. Hours later, a noise not unlike the crack of a whip heralded a lance of plasma roaring in and blowing apart one of the platoon's sappers. Sniper fire from the Grunts accompanied from the same direction, forcing the Turians forward... straight into some sort of invisible razor array able to ignore kinetic barriers and slice through soldiers effortlessly. Many men and women had not reacted in time to dodge around the trap, further sapping their numbers down towards platoon strength.

These clever, if dirty, traps had led to Duellator's moniker for them. They left deadly surprises, yet were never there to have eyes laid on them... Well, that was not exactly true. Duellator fought his rising gorge as his mind wandered to the time he had come close to actually seeing one of these wily creatures. He had been ordered by Tribune Visum, his superior, to scout a small building on the outskirts of one of the planet's cities. As he explored the small structure, his caution escalated to outright horror as he bore witness to the gruesome spectacle within. Tribune Visum had seemed surprised when Duellator had sprinted back to his squad, heaving deep, panicked breaths.

"Quaestor, what in the name of the Spirits is wrong with you?" Visum had demanded. The scout took a handful of seconds to catch his breath.

"There... In the building... Saw one." He gasped. "Saw a Saboteur." His fellows were suddenly more attentive. Each of them had been yearning for a glimpse of their invisible stalkers, though they had left that desire unsaid.

"So why are you here?" Visum asked. Duellator had caught his breath, yet took a moment to answer.

"It was cloaked... just barely... it was... Spirits," He had to stop for a moment. What had gotten him so spooked, Visum wondered.

"It was... _cutting off a soldier's plates_." He whispered. Visum's mouth opened and his mandibles went slack at what he had just heard. When he demanded the squad find this sick creature, it had already moved on. The only sign that hinted at a Saboteur's former presence was the corpse of a Turian, ragged holes in its chest and its face plates missing. More than one soldier had gotten sick at the sight of a 'skinned' Turian. Many others had wondered what other terrifying surprises they would find on this world.

The Mage answered their question.

They had not seen one, but another group of Turians had radioed for assistance. "Have encountered a hostile alien wielding some sort of strange biotics! And a sword that can cut through an-AAAAAAAGH!"

"Send assistance! It's cutting through us like we're no here! Coordinates are as follows!"

Those coordinates were where Duellator's platoon was headed at this moment. The other squad had cut out a few moments ago. As they rounded another building, the quaestor very quickly fought the urge to vomit as he discovered why.

Every building surrounding the small plaza was pockmarked with mass accelerator round divots; it was as though a tremendous grenade that spewed bullets instead of shrapnel had gone off. In spite of that, Duellator did not think that the mutilated Turian corpses were a result of gunfire. Limbs haphazardly strewn about bisected bodies and severed heads, their points of severance completely cauterized, made for an even more macabre image. Depending on who you asked, it was either fortunate or unfortunate that the culprit was leaning on the lip of some sort of long-destroyed commemorative fountain.

The bipedal alien was clothed in a sigil-less grey tunic of dyed leather or some analogous material. Identically coloured pants and boots covered its feet and legs, which bent in the same fashion as the Grunts'. An equally grey cloak draped over its shoulders and head, obscuring its features. The only thing it carried that might have been a weapon was the bumpy silver cylinder clipped to its belt. It should not have, but Duellator felt odd at its presence. He felt as though... he could barely describe the feeling. As the alien's shrouded head turned towards his flagging company, Duellator could not help but think that the alien was staring into the very soul of every Turian around him, laying his deeds as bare as a newborn.

_You..._

Duellator jerked in surprise as a gravelly voice boomed about him. No Turian could have spoke in such a manner. It seemed as though he was not the only one to hear the voice.

_You are not welcome here_.

There it was again. As Duellator whipped about to try and find the source, he found his gaze returning to the alien, all but forgotten as the invisible speaker disoriented the Turians. Because their attention was being directed anywhere but at it, Duellator somehow entertained the notion that this alien was the source of the voice.

"You!" He barked at the robed alien. He was unsure whether or not it could understand him, but the booming voice had been speaking in Pala (the Turian main language) and one could usually get their point across when shouting and pointing a gun. "Drop your weapons and get on the ground!" He demanded. Other soldiers were training their weapons on the alien, whose only response was to raise its arms, which ended in a pair of _flippers_, and pull off its cowl.

Duellator was reminded of various fish he had seen in aquariums across the galaxy. The alien's rusty brown bulb-like head was cephalopod in shape and patterned with dark yellow pigments. Bulging, yellow eyes stuck out from the side and two slits along its frontal cranium served as nostrils. While he had no idea as to what kinds of mannerisms this alien used, Duellator hazarded a guess that the flaring nostrils, heavy breathing and narrowed eyes meant that the alien was angry.

_You come into OUR space..._ the voice was a hiss now. _Destroy the ships of MY kin and allies, darken OUR skies with your machines of war, murder my allies, raze OUR cities to the ground, desecrate this symbol of unity with your wretched footsteps, AND YOU DARE TO GIVE __ME__ ORDERS?! _The voice had rose to an enraged roar. Duellator saw half a handful of Turians fluttering their mandibles nervously. The alien grasped the cylinder on its belt and roughly pressed a button somewhere on it. _Snap-hiss_! From the cylinder, a pale blue, nigh white column of light burst forth and began humming angrily.

_For your transgressions against me and mine, I hereby sentence you all to death._ And with its 'silent' declaration, the alien began a slow advance. Duellator noted, in his trepidation, that the tip of the blade spat up sparks as it melted the ground.

As if sensing the impending danger, the alien raised its free flipper as a wall of sand grain-sized bullets roared from the Ninth's weapons. The blare of assault rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles, SMGs and pistols continued for several seconds, but died quickly when the alien began to grow obscured by the stationary cloud of metal it was somehow stopping. The alien blinked once, and as it lowered its flipper, the whisper of tiny metal grains hitting the ground accompanied it. In an unforseen display of speed, it lunged forward, blade poised to strike. One unfortunate Turian raised his weapon to stop the blade, and was again shocked when it cut through the metal of his rifle as if it was not even there. As the bisected gun fell to the ground, the alien whipped around and took off the unfortunate Turian's head with a graceful flick of its wrist. Without even looking, it ducked Tribune Visum's attempt to club it over the head with the butt of his rifle. Pivoting on the ball of its feet, the alien threw its left arm forward, palm out, and blasted Visum away with its incredible, invisible biotics. Like every soldier before him, Duellator's attempted attack failed, and the alien rewarded his attack by removing both of his arms.

As he stared up at the sky, rife with smoke, Duellator prayed to the Spirits, asking that they be kind to his family. He did not have time to end his prayer, courtesy of the extremely heavy boot smashing into his face.

* * *

><p>The main lights had long since gone out in the Shanxi Garrison command centre. Dim, red emergency globes cast long shadows across the stark base, causing no end of trouble for the staff and military crew that remained. Deep within the base, three leaders huddled around a holo-table depicting New Hong Kong the position of enemy and friendly units alike.<p>

The first was General Andrew Williams of the Systems Alliance Colonial Marine Corps. His blocky face was etched into a frown that had scarcely moved since word of the Shanxi Defense Fleet's fall had reached him. A nasty cut ran from his forehead to the right side of his chin, and congealed blood had stained his battle dress.

The second was Kweiju'dha, which translated roughly to 'Sly Water'. And indeed, the two meter tall Yautja Clan Master lived up to his name. His tactical expertise, when conveyed to the few Hunters of his tribe in the Shanxi garrison, had cut down swaths of unsuspecting Turians while allowing them to slide around any obstacle. The huge alien was currently stroking his covered chin. The bio-mask on his face was forged with many 'ripples' originating from where Kwei's snout would be. In accordance with the laws of the colony, his shoulder-mounted plasma casters had been removed and set in the armory. Only his wrist-mounted scimitar remained on his person.

The third alien at the table was Genbar Eerin, Knight Commander of the half-dozen Jedi assigned to the colony. The Mon Calamari knight had insisted that he and a flipper-full of other warriors be present on the jointly-colonized planet, hinting at trouble with the statement "Strange ripples are flowing through the Force." While suspicious, the Admiralty, the Yautja High Council and the Mon Cal Confederation had approved the request for the mysterious mystics to defend Shanxi. Like every other member of the monastic order, Eerin wore the identical, unadorned grey robes and tunic made of dyed Quarren hide. His skin was a much paler shade of rust, bordering on tan, and the many barbels under his chin betrayed his age. But even with that handicap, he was easily as tough as Andrew or Kwei, and had dedicated his life to the Jedi Order and its mission: Preservation of order at any cost. Said order preached peace and diplomacy above all else, but both the Humans and the Yautja knew that if pushed, the natives of Dac would dispense with their unique and intangible brand of justice like a calamity of the highest order.

"So," Kwei growled in his characteristically slow voice. "The end game has begun."

"It began when these murderers showed up on our doorstep, Clan Master." Andrew corrected with no reproach in his voice. Instead, only weariness was evident.

"And yet here we stand, bickering." Genbar grumbled. The Human and the Yautja blinked before getting back on track.

"Estimates based on current troop movements say that the Turians will reach Command and the civilians within two hours." Andrew stated, referring to the civilian bunker under the city. While it had been built to protect the civilian Humans, Mon Cal and Yautja (a shocking concept, given the history between the three races) from pirates, orbital strikes or nuclear blasts, it was now apparently useful for protecting them from genocidal aliens.

"Your warriors have fought well. When we have crushed these... Turians," Kwei's voice became extra guttural as he spat the name of the invading species. "I will see to it that all who have embraced the _dhi'ki-de_ are remembered." He vowed.

"Do you truly think we'll get out of this, Kwei?" Andrew asked, abandoning his rigid formality.

"Yes, Andrew." His taller counterpart replied. "We may have lost ground, but we have not been defeated yet."

"And we must remember that there are civilians to protect." Genbar added. Andrew blew out a breath through pursed lips.

"So no pressure." He muttered. "So, we've got multiple platoon strength enemy squads closing, and all of our Marine, Hunter and Jedi units retreating to our position. Any ideas?" He asked.

"Knight Eerin," Kwei began, "how long did your brothers say it would take to reach us?"

Genbar blinked once. "As of now, it should not be more than a few hours." He ran a flipper over his... light sword? Laser saber? Andrew could never remember what it was called. "Our base provides an excellent bottleneck; that should buy us some extra time."

"Or get us killed faster." Andrew muttered under his breath.

"You forget General, if all else fails-" Knowing where the Yautja clan leader was going with his statement, Andrew cut him off.

"No. Absolutely not. I understand that the situation is looking bleak, but I will _not_ be remembered as the general who let those... _monsters_ loose on one of our worlds." He snarled. Kwei had not been expecting so much venom from the sometimes aggressive human, and tilted his head to the side. Genbar looked to his Human counterpart and nodded minutely. He may be willing to preserve order at any cost, but unleashing a bio-weapon on a world where his people could get hurt was unacceptable.

Whatever further ideas were about to be given stalled as a younger soldier entered the room. "General!" She exclaimed after snapping to a salute. "All remaining Marine, Hunter and Jedi forces have reached the base and are awaiting orders, sirs."

"Tell them to arm up." Andrew ordered, sharing a look with his fellow commanders. "We'll hold the line here until reinforcements arrive."

"Yes sir!" She acknowledged and exited the room. The three commanders wordlessly made the short trek to the armory, picking up their preferred weapons.

"Kwei, Genbar," Andrew began as he picked up his M622 Storm LMG, modded with a red dot scope for accuracy and an under-slung light automatic shotgun, "if this is it, it's been an honour fighting with you."

"Indeed Andrew," Kwei responded with a nod, extending and retracting his Combi-Stick, latching a bladed disc to his belt and testing the targeting system of his dual plasma casters. "You have commanded your troops admirably, and are willing to die by their side. My clan will look upon you favourably." Andrew felt a small amount of pride at the Yautja's words; for one to say that their clan approved of you was no small compliment.

"It will not be long before the fleets arrive." Eerin reassured as he inspected his blade, clipping an M49 Hammer semi-automatic to his belt. "And let us not forget, our units were operating mostly alone before." The Mon Calamari swiveled his eyes to regard his colleagues.

"Now, we stand together."

* * *

><p><strong>So here's an idea for a Mass Effect crossover I've been thinking about. Please...<strong>

**1. Tell me whether or not you liked this chapter**

**2. Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this chapter**

**3. Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this chapter**

**4. Let me know if you'd like to see this become a full story**

**Good night,**

**DR**


	9. Standing Together: G-Net Entries

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: So, since my last chapter (Standing Together), people have been asking about the history between the Allied factions. Since I like you guys and gals so much, I've decided to grant your request.**

* * *

><p><strong>Standing Together: G-Net Entries<strong>

**... System engaged**

**... Welcome to the Human Systems Alliance Database. Please enter passcode.**

**... Passcode accepted; accessing network.**

**... Please input keywords to begin search.**

**... Searching for entries... 1 469 entries found containing keywords. Selecting article...**

**Entry: The United Species League: Overview**

Officially founded in 2140 CE, the United Species League (USL) is the term used to describe the allied governments and peoples of the Human Systems Alliance, the Yautja Allied Clans and the Mon Calamari Confederation. The origins of the USL begin in 2129, when a Human marine group assisted a Yautja hunting party in their [REDACTED]. In 2134, while exploring a "new" system, a Human/Yautja exploration group came upon the planet Dac, where they were cautiously greeted by a fleet of Mon Calamari ships. While the three species and their governments remain sovereign, they are bound together by various trading treaties, non-aggression pacts (See Human-Yautja Relations), cooperation agreements, and a handful of laws passed that apply to the entirety of the USL. Though the bonds of the League remain fragile, the average citizen would willingly help a fellow member of the USL. To better strengthen the relations between the three species, each offers courses in the main languages of their allies. The total number of worlds held by all three species of the USL sits at forty-two, the homeworlds being Earth (Human) Yautja Prime (Yautja) and Dac (Mon Calamari).

**... Refining search... 11 entries found containing keywords. Selecting article...**

**Entry: United Species League Economy**

When compared to the collective Citadel Covenant, the USL's economy is quite small. But what it lacks in size, it makes up for with efficiency. Every citizen of the USL enjoys a decent standard of living, and poverty is on a slow decline. In the seventeen years since the official founding of the USL, significant advancements in medical technology, nano-augmentations, terraforming equipment, civilian innovation and ship construction have been made. Nearly all forms of autoimmune and genetic diseases have been purged from each species, the Yautja High Council of Adjudicators have noted a 17% (approximated) reduction in incidences of Yautja "Kill Rage", and the Mon Calamari have reported a small decrease in "Force madness". Items such as multi-purpose nanites, plasma technology and non-Element Zero (Short form: E0) based machines are considered hot items by the Citadel races, but the USL staunchly refuses to begin trading them. A black market has begun to rise in response to this (to the Citadel races) overzealous denial of trade items. Some of the less valuable items the USL brings to the trading industry are iridium and platinum, mainly exported to the Asari Republics. The small amount of E0 in USL-controlled space, along with various lesser metals used in ship-building, are traded with the Quarian Migrant Fleet, whom the USL are attempting to entice into the League. Due to several facets of USL culture the Quarians take issue with, there has been little progress.

But what the Citadel races find most boggling about the USL economy is their acceptance and use of artificial persons. When warned of the dangers of artificial intelligences, using the Geth Uprising as an example, the Systems Alliance (the original designers) nearly laughed their way out of Citadel Space. Ambassador Anita Goyle was quoted saying "Do not try to lecture us on matters you clearly know nothing about." As of 2157, AIs/Synthetic Persons are afforded every right and opportunity of their organic counterparts, with most taking jobs as ship assistants, instructors or security personnel. The 2156 census of all Human worlds places the total AI population at 7.6 million. The Yautja boast an AI population of 1.3 million, and the Mon Calamari possess a solid 4.0 million.

**Refining search... 66 entries found containing keywords.**

**WARNING: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION WITHIN. PLEASE ENTER PERSONAL AUTHORIZATION CODE. ANYONE WITH A RANK BELOW COMMANDER OR ITS EQUIVALENT FOUND TO BE ACCESSING OR IN POSSESSION OF THIS INFORMATION WILL BE IMMEDIATELY COURT MARSHALED OR ARRESTED AND IMPRISONED.**

**... Personal Authorization Code accepted. Selecting article...**

**Entry: United Species League Military Composition **

The military arms of the USL is a source of bewilderment for the Citadel races. While they rely upon the Turian Hierarchy for the majority of their military needs, each member of the USL is expected to contribute to its martial strength. Each species contributes to the USL war machine in a different fashion:

The Human Systems Alliance provides the frontline ground troops- which act through a combination of Asari and Turian tactics, and are arguably just as effective- and naval support with ships combining Yautja plasma technology, Mon Calamari propulsion systems and their own E-warfare suites. On the ground, they wield chemical-round-based M41A Pulse Rifles (Mk1 and Mk2), M59/B Smartguns, M42C Scoped Rifles and M260B Flamethrowers (See Technical Specifications). Being the newest space-faring species, Human ships are less effective as those of the Yautja or Mon Calamari, yet they still present a credible threat to an unprepared foe (See Third Contact War).

The smallest craft in the Human Systems Alliance Navy is the Pappenheimer-class multi-role starfighter. Designed with flexibility in mind, the 25m x 28.7m x 8.8m fighter can be purposed as either an interceptor or a bomber for both endo- and exo-atmospheric warfare. If it is used as an interceptor, the fighter comes equipped with two 110mm DU-ET/C (Depleted Uranium Explosive-Tipped Caseless) rotary cannons, a swivel-mounted 120mm Phosphorus Round cannon, and a pair of strike-class plasma warhead launchers. If it is used as a bomber, the 120mm cannon is exchanged for a second row of plasma warhead launchers.

Human Systems Alliance Metropolis-class frigates span 200m x 74m x 37m. While they are one of the cheapest ships in the Navy, they are surprisingly durable, due to their 96cm of overlapping battleplate armour with vacuum-sealed spaces between layers to minimize heat distribution. Because of their size, frigates are armed only with two rows of capital-class plasma warhead launchers (PWL), four railguns and four 70mm CIWS (Close In Weapon System) turrets for point defense. Named for the cities of Earth, frigates are used for patrol duty, covert commando drops, and screening larger ships against enemy fighters.

A ship unique to the Human Systems Alliance is the Carnivore-class destroyer. Measuring 400m x 101m x 51m, these ships combine the speed and manoeuvrability of a frigate with firepower just slightly less than a cruiser. They boast four railguns, two PWLs and four CIWS guns, and augment it with a spinal plasma torpedo launcher (PTL, informally called "petals") able to fire a 41.84 Terajoule projectile at 2248.4 kilometers per second. Named after the predators of Earth, destroyers are almost always escorts for larger craft, and modified variants can carry two starfighters for screening duty, at the expense of decreasing their 169cm of armour to 112cm.

The Human Marshall-class cruiser comes in two variants. The first, a 600m x 203m x 102m variant, sports a pair of spinal PTLs able to fire 62.8 Terajoule projectiles at 2998 kilometers per second in quick succession, 225cm of overlapping battleplate, four rows of PWLs, four railguns and a platoon's worth of marines (60 soldiers). The second variant, the cruiser-carrier, at 600m x 263m x 158m, sacrifices its PTLs, PWLs and railguns for extra CIWS turrets, and gives up 90cm of its armour in exchange for fifty starfighters it uses to harass enemy fighters and frigates. Named for the great warlords of the past, a Human cruiser can severely damage, if not cripple two Turian cruisers.

Humanity's second unique ship is the Immortal-class battlecruiser. Like the destroyer, it straddles the line between two ships: Mainline cruiser and dreadnought. At 800m x 311m x 156m, the battlecruiser swaps out railguns for four miniature broadside PTLs, able to fire 4.18 Terajoule projectiles at 1124 kilometers per second. These micro-cannons augment the two main guns, which fire a 146 Terajoule projectile at 4497 kilometers per second. With eight CIWS turrets and 412cm of overlapping battleplate for defense and named after deities from every religion, many Mon Calamari ship-builders have been highly impressed by the Human battlecruiser.

The Alliance fields two types of Jolly Roger-class dreadnought; assault and carrier variant. The first, at a staggering 1200m x 402m x 201m, is the only Human ship to use E0 and comes equipped not with a PTL, but a plasma beam. Using mass effect fields to lighten superheated plasma and expelling it via a magnetic bottle, a dreadnought's main gun can fire a one Terajoule per second beam of superheated plasma for a maximum of five seconds. While its yield is much lower than even a destroyer's beam, its intent is not to blow holes in a ship, but to _slice_ it. Using mass effect field projectors just off the bow, the AI assigned to every dreadnought can curve the beam up to sixty degrees in any direction and carve swaths through an enemy formation. But due to the significantly larger power draw of a sustained plasma beam, the Human dreadnought must sacrifice its railguns to compensate. It makes up for its lack of broadside weapons with twelve PWLs, ten CIWS turrets and 500cm of overlapping battleplate. Mon Calamari admiral Tirka Ackbar, on a tour of the first Human dreadnought, remarked that he would not think to take on the largest Human ship with anything less than an MC90 Super Cruiser.

The 1300m x 510m x 255m carrier variant, like the cruiser-carrier, sacrifices a good deal of its armour (300cm) and weaponry in exchange for CIWS guns and space to carry one hundred fighter craft. To eliminate the inherent weakness of the carrier- original designs were of an enormous corridor- the fighter craft are suspended in individual cubicles and flung out through the bottom of the ship. Ten 20.7m x 15.1m x 9m troop transports, docked in a separate bay at the carrier's stern carry fifteen soldiers at a time into ground engagements. Alternatively, a "B-model" carrier can house four frigates to be deployed as a force multiplier.

Undoubtedly, the biggest drawbacks of the Systems Alliance dreadnoughts are their incredible cost, and use of the highly scarce E0. As of 2157, there exist only a single dreadnought proper and two carriers, the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, the _Royal Fortune_ (A-model) and the _Snap Dragon _(B-model). All three are stationed at Earth, and are never committed to battle unless a state of total war is declared.

The Yautja Allied Clans serve as infiltrators, assassins and saboteurs. Those who choose to become Hunters refine their skills over a minimum of one hundred years, and are able to serve aboard USL ships once they have completed their Rite of Passage and been recognized as Blooded. While some Yautja prefer working aboard their ships, or those of the Alliance and/or Confederation, most make use of their signature single-occupant dropships to sneak in behind enemy lines and preserve their reputation as the most adaptable killers in the galaxy. From there, they make incredibly efficient use of their active camouflage, plasma-based casters and mines, as well as their myriad of melee weapons.

Unlike Humans and Mon Calamari, who build a variety of ships to be as dynamic in space combat as they possibly can, the Yautja field only two models of capital ships. The first is the Scout ship. Sitting between a Human frigate and destroyer, the 300m x 142m x 90m craft is equipped with an active camouflage suite that allows it to disappear from all types of known sensors. Even if it were to be detected, a scout ship's hull is easily strong enough to stand up to a Human cruiser's PTLs. The Scout ships are equipped with a plasma cannon able to fire in pulsed (41.84 Terajoules/shot (1-3 shots) at 29 979 kilometers per second) or continuous (2.5 Terajoules/sec (6 sec) at 37 474 kilometers per second) mode. These attributes make the scout ship ideal for cutting through enemy lines with no warning, deploying its four insertion pods or shuttle craft and leaving before retaliation can occur. The insertion pods dropped by the scout ship contain a single Yautja Hunter, and self-destruct after use to prevent the technology from falling into enemy hands. The single occupant shuttle craft are equipped with active camouflage to prevent discovery.

The second capital ship in the surprisingly small Yautja fleet is- humorously enough- called a Mothership. At 3000m x 1455m x 830m, the name is well-deserved. The Mothership boasts the same stealth features as the Scout, but with far more firepower and carrying capacity. The Mothership is able to carry an entire Yautja clan (Which is sometimes the case, and said clans can number in the thousands) as well as up to twenty Scout ships that act as a force multiplier/screen/infiltration force, and hundreds of insertion pods. Four swivel-mounted plasma cannons serve as the Mothership's weapons, each with the same firing abilities as the Scout ship's main gun (Pulsed: 66.94 Terajoules/shot (1-3 shots) at 29 979 kilometers per second. Continuous: 4 Terajoules/sec (10 sec) at 37 474 kilometers per second). The hull of a Mothership is orders of magnitude stronger than a Scout vessel's; at least three battlecruisers and the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ would be needed to bring down a Mother ship.

The Mon Calamari- the dominant species of Dac, after exterminating the Quarren, the only sapient lifeform who could challenge them- are by far the most skilled ship builders in the USL. As such, the enormous shipyards surrounding the Mon Cal planets Dac and Ruisto provide the bulk of the USL navy, and they do so with style. No two Mon Cal ships are exactly alike. What _is_ alike is their use of laser-based weaponry. While the schematics and knowledge have been shared with the remainder of the USL, they remain un-reproducible by either the Human Systems Alliance or the Yautja Allied Clans.

The smallest craft the Mon Cal field is the B-wing heavy assault starfighter. Some debate exists surrounding the origin of the name, saying it is so because of its resemblance to a lower-case 'b' when in cruising mode, or because of its resemblance to a sword when in attack mode; in that case, the 'b' is short for 'blade'. At 16.9m x 2.9m x 2.5m (7.3m when S-foils in attack position), the B-wing carries an enormous payload geared towards engaging capital ships. An ion cannon under its cockpit and at the bottom of its primary foil, three laser cannons on the ends of each of its foils and a pair of proton torpedo launchers more than make up for the B-wing's relatively slow cruising speed of 91 megalights (Short form: MGLT) or 4550 metres/sec. To increase combat effectiveness, the cockpit featured a gyroscopic rotating module to prevent pilot disorientation in combat, as well as coordinate advanced tactical manoeuvres with ease.

At 580m x 122m x 98m, the Mon Cal MC30c frigate is the smallest capital ship the aquatic species produce. Lightly armed and armoured, the MC30c is used as an escort for larger ships, a recon vessel, or to conduct hit-and-run strikes en masse. The MC30c possesses two proton torpedo launchers, each with 12 two kiloton yield warheads, two fore and two aft turbolaser batteries each with a power output of 10 megawatts and two fore and two aft point defense laser cannons with 2 megawatt power outputs. Because of their unique method of being generated, both types of laser batter fire at 239 834.0 kilometers per second, only 80% of light speed. Unique to the MC30c is the anti-starfighter cluster bomb launcher. These explosive traps can be laid in a field before a charging enemy fighter screen, and are detonated by proximity sensor, releasing a cluster of high-yield magnetized grenades, each with a blast radius of 100 metres. But for all their weapons, 60cm of Mon Cal durasteel plating and a single particle/ray shield (Alternatively called "Deflector Shields") will not last long against a sustained bombardment. The flight crew must therefore take advantage of the ship's incredible speed, which can reach up to 80 MGLT/4000 metres/sec. The MC30b model is used as a mobile hospital with half the armaments and no cluster bomb launcher. The MC30a variant- the original- is a civilian craft.

The next step up in the arsenal is the MC40a light cruiser. At 600m x 212m x 188m, it may not be much larger than a frigate, but it is many times more formidable. Unlike the frigate, the MC40a possesses two deflector shield generators, creating redundant layers that allow for fast regeneration. Should the shields fail, the cruiser relies on its 102cm of durasteel armour for protection, making up for its slower speed (65 MGLT/3250 metres/sec). The MC40a is armed with fourteen 15 megawatt turbolaser batteries and two warhead launchers, each firing a payload of 24 capital-class AP concussion missiles per salvo. The MC40a also boasts eight ion cannons, turrets which fire highly ionized plasma that interfere with the electronics of their target, causing little physical damage. Should the weapons fail, the cruiser carries a squadron of twelve starfighters. Another feature unique to the Mon Cal, and testament to their mastery of physics, is the six tractor beams used to guide small craft into its hangar, move debris or pick up life pods.

The third capital ship in the Mon Cal armada is the MC80a Star Cruiser. At 1200m x 521m x 337m, the medium cruiser (by Mon Cal standards) is marginally larger than a Human dreadnought. Vaguely arrowhead-shaped, and with a top speed of 60 MGLT/3000 metres/sec, the MC80a makes up for its slower speed with two overlapping deflector shields, forty-eight 20 megawatt turbolaser batteries, 20 ion cannons, six tractor beams and seventy-two fighters/six squadrons. The MC80a can swap out its starfighter complement to carry two MC18 light freighters/transports.

The MC80 Home One-class falls into the heavy cruiser category, and is often seen leading task forces or small fleets. A Yautja Mother Ship would be hard pressed to come out of an engagement with a Home One cruiser alive, much less intact. The 1300m x 398m x 188m ship, while sized similarly, could gut a Human dreadnought with some effort. With three overlapping deflector shields, 600cm of durasteel armour, thirty-six 20 megawatt turbolaser and ion batteries apiece, six tractor beam projectors and ten squadrons of fighters to screen them, the Home One battlecruiser is a veritable flying fortress able to blast its way through a small Turian fleet (See Third Contact War), making its relatively slow speed of 60 MGLT/3000 metres/sec completely irrelevant.

A companion ship to the Home One-class is the MC90 Super Cruiser. While smaller than the Home One, only 1255m x 502m x 276m, it brings twice as much firepower to the battlefield. During a 2144 skirmish with the Mon Cal Secession Alliance, the MC90 Super Cruiser_ Defiance_ was responsible for the destruction of six MC30's, two MC40s and even a Home One cruiser; twice as many fatalities as any other attending ship (See USL Secession Movement). With seventy-five 30 megawatt turbolasers, 30 ion cannons, six capital-class proton torpedo batteries, three overlapping deflector shields and a top speed of 70 MGLT/3500 metres/sec, the MC90 more than makes up for its reduced fighter capacity (72 fighters/6 Squadrons).

Finally, the pride of the Mon Cal people, called by Admiral Tirka Ackbar "The pinnacle of Mon Calamari technological development," is the MC100 heavy carrier _Blue Diver_. The 3200m x 1130m x 884m behemoth cruises along at a maximum of 50 MGLT/2500 metres/sec and is incapable of entering the atmosphere of worlds with a greater gravitational pull of 0.4G. Because it is unable to descend to the surface of most planets for refuge, the Mon Cal have ensured that the MC100 is every bit the unstoppable juggernaut it is designed to be. From a sensor suite able to scan an entire solar system all the way to its 1000cm of durasteel, the _Blue Diver_ is built to last. With one hundred and twenty 40 megawatt heavy turbolaser batteries, 80 ion cannons, 12 capital-class proton torpedo and concussion missile launchers, 8 tractor beam projectors and four overlapping deflector shields, the MC100 could feasibly take on a small fleet alone, even before releasing its 240 fighters. Yet, like the Human dreadnought-weight ships, the MC100 is tremendously expensive to build, so much so that if the Mon Calamari Shipyards were to attempt to construct another, they run the risk of bankrupting the Confederation.

Since their joining, the Mon Calamari Hyperdrive system, which they originally used to travel faster than light, has been adopted by both the Humans and the Yautja. Both species had developed their own method of FTL travel, but both are ridiculously inefficient when compared to the Hyperdrive. Although it has not been attempted, current estimates state that if a ship were to enter hyperspace (the alternate plane of existence used by ships to travel faster than light) at one end of the Milky Way with the intention of reaching the other side, the trip would take three months, barring any errors.

**Refining search... 2 entries found containing keywords. Selecting article...**

**Entry: The Jedi Order**

**WARNING: THE INFORMATION WITHIN THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE IS DRAWN FROM QUESTIONABLE SOURCES.**

The Mon Calamari focus nearly all of their military might into training crew members for their massive ships, and as such, receive limited combat training. The only members of the species that can be called 'ground troops' are those of the shadowy Jedi Order, a monastic collective of Mon Calamari. While they do not hold an official place in the Confederation government, their word his so highly respected that two laws they proposed to the Confederation parliament have been passed. The members of the order, the Jedi, are Mon Calamari born with the ability known to the rest of the USL as the Force. The Masters have not been forthcoming about the Force, saying only that it is "An energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, and penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together." A tiny fraction of Mon Calamari have the ability to manipulate the Force; current estimates place the number around one in fifty million. But the Masters, who have trained themselves to sense others with the potential to wield the Force, can miss potential candidates to induct and train. As of 2157 CE, the exact number of Jedi in the order is unknown, but estimates put it at around four hundred.

The history of the Order is a story lost to the ages. But most of the Masters and scholars who are researching the origins of the Jedi have placed stock in a theory: An alien species ventured to Dac many eons ago and taught the ancient Mon Cal to harness heir gift.

The Jedi Order has declined to share all but a few details about themselves. The first is their mission: To preserve peace among the Mon Calamari and their allies at any cost. While most of the Jedi endeavour to solve the problems they deem worthy of intervention peacefully, they are not above using violence if diplomacy fails.

The second is the sheer skill of even the most inexperienced members of the Order. While the exact details of their training are unknown, all Jedi exhibit incredible mental and emotional fortitude, seen in their ability to remain unaffected in the face of certain death. In addition, their ability to use the Force can allow them to read and manipulate the thoughts of others; a huge advantage for those who battle in both the traditional sense, and the political. A handful of Jedi have shied away from peacekeeping duties to pursue a career in diplomacy.

The third and final detail known about the Order is they make use of lightsabers; melee weapons made of contained superheated plasma, theoretically able to cut through anything. The method and materials pertaining to the construction of a lightsaber, as well as the planet(s) they are found on remain a zealously guarded secret. By decree of the Order, an extrajudicial body, any individual- regardless of their species- found to be in possession of files or materials pertaining to lightsaber production, or an actual lightsaber, are to be detained and tried by the Jedi Council of Masters. Any information on the subject is conjecture, but all of it leads non-Mon Cal researchers to believe that every defendant was found guilty and executed.

**Refining Search... 33 entries fond containing keywords. Selecting article...**

**Entry: Human-Yautja Relations**

Humans and Yautja share a long history, reaching back over four thousand years. It was them who taught the ancient Humans how to build the pyramids that dot Africa, ancient Mesoamerica and parts of Europe. For their knowledge, the Humans worshiped the Yautja as gods and were expected to offer sacrifices in the name of the Hunt. In more recent times, Yautja have come to Earth roughly once a century to hunt the most dangerous of the species.

It was during a patrol of an uncharted system in 2129 that a Human recon group happened upon a Yautja Scout ship in orbit around a small, habitable world. Unsure of who exactly they were dealing with, the Human patrol hailed the Scout vessel and offered assistance. Unable to comprehend the words, but understanding the message, the Yautja crewmembers responded with a series of short animations, accepting the proffered assistance. Once the operation had been completed, the Human patrol proposed an alliance with the Yautja. Impressed by the species which they often took to hunt, the Elder of the ship stated that he would relay the proposal to the Adjudicators. When the diplomats met to negotiate the terms of an alliance, the past reared its ugly head as information regarding the Yautja hunts revolving around Humans came to light. Once the parties with the information were removed from the proceedings with conflict of interests being cited, negotiations resumed, although the tension level had increased exponentially. Eventually, the Ooman-Hish Treaty was struck with both sides grudgingly accepting compromises. The (highly simplified) details are as follows:

1) Members of all Yautja clans signed to the Ooman-Hish Treaty are forbidden from abducting and/or hunting Humans unless the Human(s) in question attempted violence upon signatory Yautja with the intent to kill.

First Corollary [CLASSIFIED]: Human criminals sentenced to death will be offered to the Yautja to be hunted or used to breed Xenomorphs.

2) Any request by either Human or Yautja for information regarding item(s) unique to the other's people are to be offered with something of equal value.

3) In accordance with the Ooman-Hish Treaty, an attack on one race from a foreign power constitutes an attack on the entire alliance, and will be met with an appropriate amount of force.

4) Both species are responsible for their own immigration laws.

5) [CLASSIFIED] All responsibility surrounding Xenomorphs- including, but not limited to custody, breeding, study and use as agents of biological warfare- is to be taken exclusively by the Yautja Allied Clans signatory to the Ooman-Hish Treaty. Human involvement, if any at all, is to be at their discretion. Any Human(s) found violating this article will face either life imprisonment with no chance of parole, death by Yautja hunt or Xenomorph impregnation. If the Human party/parties is found to be acting in the interest of a corporation, that corporation will be blacklisted, and the member(s) who gave the order to the acting party/parties face arrest for violation of the Ooman-Hish Treaty. As of 2157, only one instance has been reported (See: 'Weyland-Yutani board of directors arrested for illegal possession of biological weapons. Company officially blacklisted.')

With the induction of the Mon Calamari after the unintentional "discovery" in 2134, and formal creation of the USL, the same laws are extended to them, with some variants.

**Logging out of Human Systems Alliance Database...**

**Closing Google Tachyon web browser...**

**Shutdown engaged...**

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: And there's your 'Codex' entries, ladies and gentlemen. Hope that cleared up any questions you might have had about the first teaser of 'Standing Together'. And on that note, I want to address a few things:<strong>

**Human Systems Alliance ships: They are visually the same as their counterparts in Mass Effect, but black, much more heavily armoured, and use plasma for their main guns. To see models of most of the ships I've described, see the link in my profile. The weapons used by the marines are taken from the 'Alien' universe.**

**Yautja ships, culture and language: All information retrieved from Xenopedia. Some creative liberty was taken with weapons and how the Yautja have changed since joining the USL.**

**Mon Calamari culture and Ships: All information retrieved from Wookiepedia. Some creative liberty was taken with ship size, armament and information. Their history was also tweaked to go along with the darker feel I associate with this idea. Please also note that on Wookiepedia, a megalight is equivalent to traveling 1 metre/sec. Most commercial aircraft of today travel faster than that, so I increased the value to 50 metres/sec.**

**The Jedi Order: Yes, they are exclusively Mon Calamari, and yes, I wrote them darker than canon Jedi because I can. Think of them as the USL version of Asari Justicars. **


	10. Fantasy In Reality

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 10: Fantasy in Reality**

* * *

><p><strong>Unmapped solar system, unmapped cluster, Attican Traverse<strong>

**Systems Alliance Space Vessel **_**Normandy**_

**Systems Alliance Standard Time: 7 April, 2183, 0322 hours**

"So Shepard," Garrus Vakarian, former C-Sec agent began. "What do we know about this mission?" While none of the remaining operatives said anything, their thoughts echoed Garrus' question.

"Very little." Sterling Shepard, Alliance Golden Boy, N7 operative (Engineer-class), and the first Human SPECTRE answered. "The intel's from an STG team that came through the system to dodge a Blood Pack death squad. The report says that they found a garden world giving off electromagnetic readings that made no sense." Here the engineer paused to look down at the datapad containing what little declassified information the Salarians had relinquished.

"Our mission orders are to observe this world, find the source of these readings, and if it seems like a good idea, make contact with the locals." He recited the orders the Council had demanded of him. Reactions were mixed.

"Great. Get assigned to a SPECTRE ship and I _still_ end up working the equivalent of a graveyard shift." Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams and Sterling's current (secret) squeeze muttered to herself.

"C'mon Ash, at least it beats Geth cleanup duty." Tali'Zorah nar Rayya chirped, bubbly as ever. Even the cynical Human soldier felt her mood buoy slightly; no one could stay grumpy around Tali, the 'little sister' of the crew.

"Any questions? Thoughts?" Sterling asked. Silence greeted him. "Alright. ETA to our destination is eleven hours. Rest up and get ready, we're going in blind. Dismissed." As the squad of seven rose from their seats in the war room, Sterling looked over at Ashley. In the two months they had been together, both had become more and more adept at reading each other's body language. Nowadays, Sterling only had to raise an eyebrow half an inch to say "I want to do horrible things to you." to her. She only had to twitch her lips upwards to say "I'm gonna enjoy every sweaty second of this."

When he retreated to his quarters and she followed ten minutes later, as their fatigues fell to the ground and their bodies came together, both knew they would be getting no sleep before touching down.

* * *

><p>"Wow," Jeff "Joker" Moreau managed to say as the <em>Normandy<em> exited FTL. "Calling this place 'pristine' is an understatement."

Sterling had to agree. He had seen photos of Earth before the flood that was industry came to life, but to see a garden world untouched by megatropolises and space stations and corporate interests was something entirely different. From the initial scans, the planet was determined to be 83% water, and the land consisted of several islands clustered around one supercontinent. The supercontinent was a mix of browns, greens and whites. Deserts covered the northwest and part of the southern continent, a long belt of forest, grassland and what could be marshes spanning the mass. Dark grey clouds covered a large island in the northeastern segment; clouds which Liara stated were characteristic of those released by erupting volcanoes. A chain of mountains ran from a peninsula in the northwest, crossed the southern tundra region and divided the marshy region from the central forest mass. Two moons orbited the planet.

"Alright Boss," Joker snapped him out of his observations. "What do you want to do?"

Shepard kept staring at the planet. For the damnedest reason, he had a strange feeling. Like the voices of his conscience, his dark side and everything in between had begun whispering into his ear together. The funny thing was that they were all whispering the same thing. Sterling found his eyes drawn to the tundra. Something... something about it was giving him that odd feeling.

"Drop us somewhere in the tundra." He eventually ordered.

"Commander?" Joker asked, unprepared for that statement. He had been expecting Sterling to tell him to hover just out of atmo, maybe scan it to see if the air was breathable.

"I... I don't know why, but something about that region is giving me a weird feeling." Sterling admitted in a low voice. "It's like there's something calling me to it."

Joker blinked a single time, slowly. "Ooookay, that is weird. Something's 'calling you'? You sure Sovereign didn't get its tentacles into your brain?"

Sterling sighed in mock consternation. "I'm sure. And tell Ashley and Liara to suit up, they'll be coming with me." He added as he began walking out of the cockpit.

"Roger that, Boss."

* * *

><p>"Y'know," Ashley whispered over a private channel as she, Sterling and Liara descended to the planet's surface in the Mako "My legs are still a little shaky from last night."<p>

He tried to will it away, but Sterling still felt a stirring in his loins. "Dammit Ash," he whispered back. "Don't do this to me now! Walking around in this suit with a hard-on is _not _pleasant."

She giggled quietly. "Aww, want me to kiss it all better Skipper?" She mocked playfully.

"Stop it. I can hear you." Liara whispered in the same conspiratorial manner as the two humans. Both of their helmeted heads snapped to the Asari, and though they couldn't see her full face, both of them just _knew _she was grinning cheekily. Both were too mortified to say anything as the tank slammed into the ground and the three explorers exited it. Snow-dusted rock and sparse vegetation extended served as the foreground for the swirling, snowy vista they were treated to from atop the mountain they had landed on. The sun was near its apex, and the few clouds in the sky were wispy, doing nothing to dim the light. The air, while cold even through their helmets, did not carry the slightly stale taste of recycled ship air or the musk of smog-filled cities. Instead, it almost tasted sweet.

"I have just scanned the atmosphere. The atmosphere is 22.36% oxygen, 76.64% nitrogen, and one percent miscellaneous elements. It should be safe to remove our helmets." Liara informed as she looked up from her omni-tool. The two Humans and one Asari slowly unclasped their helmets and breathed in an icy cold draft of air.

"Ahhh, that's nice." Ashley sighed, savoring the cleanliness of the air.

"I concur. This place is quite beautiful." Liara added. "I could see myself retiring here."

"If there was less snow, I would agree with you Liara." Sterling quipped. He had always been preferential to warmer climates. "For now, let's take a walk up the hill and- What is _that_?" He abruptly asked. The girls redirected their attention to the commander to see what he was indicating.

Sterling had been looking at a structure carved from the top of a mountain. They were on a higher peak, forcing them to look down to take in the image. Square stacks of stone supported flights of stairs leading to a tiny plateau before the giant statue. Said stone monolith gave Sterling, Ashley and Liara a moment of pause as they observed the uncannily familiar features. Two eyes and arms, a nose, full lips, breasts, plantigrade legs...

_It was a monolith of a human woman_.

"Goddess," Liara breathed. Sterling and Ashley paid her no mind as they continued to observe the statue. The woman was clad in a robe- not unlike those worn by the ancient Greeks- that draped over her outstretched arms. In her right hand, held slightly behind her, she carried a crescent moon. In her left, she brandished a stylized star.

"Am I seeing this right Skipper?" Ashley asked. "Is that statue a human, or are my eyes just playing tricks on me?"

"No, no, you're seeing it fine Ash." Sterling answered. "But this... I don't even..." He stopped trying to speak. For once, words had failed him. The chances of finding another sentient race that looked even _more _like them than the Asari had to be upwards of one hundred million to one.

"Perhaps we should examine this statue. We may learn something about who or what it signifies." Liara's excited voice roused the two Humans from their near stupor.

"Um, yeah, yeah. What she said." Sterling murmured. "Anyone up for a walk? I don't want to take the Mako down this slope." He pointed to the craggy rocks on the inclined slope before them. Both Ashley and Liara had been at the mercy of Sterling's driving, and had no intention of experiencing it on such a treacherous slope. As they agreed and set off, keeping an eye out for any denizens of the planet, none of them were any the wiser to the pair of tracks in the snow beside the tank's tread.

A pair of tracks with no body that began to follow them.

* * *

><p>"It's even bigger up close." Sterling remarked as they reached the monolith.<p>

Their short trek to the giant statue had been... interesting. On their way, the had encountered an animal that looked exactly like an Earthen wolf chasing a pair of goat-like creatures. What had _not _been like anything Sterling had seen before, was the flying creature made of ice that had jumped them about twenty minutes into their walk. In the few seconds he had to look at the shrieking... thing, Sterling made the observation that it looked like a shark's skull had been stuck on the skeleton of a snake. It had lunged in an attempt to bite them with its icy jaws, but a well-placed Carnage round from Ashley's shotgun had disintegrated whatever that creature was.

"What was _that_?" Liara asked, having been the closest to the creature when it burst from the snow. She had yelped and fallen over in shock. Now that the creature had disintegrated into glowing blue dust, she was clutching her heart with saucer-like eyes.

"You alright Liara?" Sterling asked, moving closer and placing a comforting hand on her arm. From a few feet away, Ashley knew that Sterling had chose her, but she could not help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy at the close contact between her boyfriend and the Asari who she suspected still harbored feelings for him.

"Y-yes, thank you Shepard. I'm just a little shaken, is all." She breathed. Nodding, Sterling returned his attention to the stairs before the monument. The steps were few, but covered in ice. As they reached the small platform, they saw some sort of table before the feet of the statue. As Liara moved up to the table with Sterling to observe the table, Ashley turned around to survey their surroundings. Ever since they had gotten out of the tank and began their trek to the monument, something had been causing the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Normally that happened when someone was watching her. But as she looked around, there was a distinct lack of hiding places and nothing had pinged on her radar. As she grasped and unfolded her Naginata VII sniper rifle, she breathed slowly and surveyed their surroundings. She started at the Mako and panned in both directions, looking for anything strange. As she followed their path from the tank, she must have not been paying attention when Liara drifted apart from the group... wait...

"Skipper!" Ashley called. Sterling looked up from his talk with Liara, eyebrow quirked.

"What's up Ash?" He asked. His hand drifted towards the bandolier of grenades across his chest when he saw the sniper rifle out. Liara still had her omni-tool out, but she was watching the exchange oddly.

"We're being followed." Ashley declared as she tracked the separate set of footprints with her scope. The wind was blowing, so they were starting to fade, but the fresher ones were dreadfully close...

"How can you tell?" Sterling asked.

"Separate footsteps following us. Tracker's probably... cloaked..." Ashley trailed off as she tracked the steps in the snow. They had reached the stairs and ascended it with them. Whoever they belonged to must have been shadowing them extremely closely. There was far less snow on the plateau, but a remnant of a footprint pointed towards...

"There," She pointed to the side of the stone column farthest from them, presumably to where their mystery stalker was. "We know you're there!" She called above the whistling wind. "Come out! We're not here to hurt you!" She added as she stowed her rifle.

"There is a very small chance that whoever is following us will understand you, Ashley." Liara said quietly. She was just about to acknowledge the Asari's statement when the soft sound of snow crunching reached her ears. A handful of seconds passed until they _saw_ the snow depress under the sole of their invisible tail. All three of them restrained a surprised reaction when their stalker appeared in a flash of purple and orange light, and quickly took in the sight of a native.

The body type immediately told Sterling, Liara and Ashley that this native was a male. A closer look at his face confirmed their thoughts, and gave rise to shock. Except for several distinct features, this native male looked almost Human. What set him apart from any type of Human- or Asari- was the colour of his skin and his eyes. His skin could only be described as stormy grey, almost like that of ashes. His eyes were a shade of red Sterling had not seen in any alien save Urdnot Wrex, the Krogan Battlemaster currently sitting aboard his ship. Long black hair peeked out from behind the hood on his head and over the golden circlet with inlaid sapphires on his steeply arched brow. He stood just a few inches shorter than Sterling, and of equal height to Ashley. He was garbed in a raiment in shades of muted blue and ivory, intricate patterns adorning the cuffs and the lining of the poncho-like garment over his robe. The poncho was lined with ivory fur as well, giving the native the look of someone important when it was compounded with the circlet and the various jeweled rings he wore over a set of gloves that, like his boots, were made of some kind of hide. Fastened to a belt made of the same hide were several satchels, one of which was bulging hugely.

What drew the attention of the two Humans and one Asari were the two longswords on his belt. The sabre-like sword on the native's right was a bluish-silver, save for the leathery strips that served as the grip. The fuller of the blade had a criss-crossing pattern in it, reminiscent of art drawn by ancient Earthen Vikings. It could have been a trick of the light, but Sterling could have sworn he saw the sabre-like sword gleam with blue runic characters. By contrast, the blade on the native's left side looked like something out of a fantasy vid. The key difference was that swords wielded by fantasy villains didn't give Sterling the creeps like this one. The grip, pommel and guard (which extended out along the back of the blade) were black and inlaid with thorn-like patterns. Running the length of the guard, a blood red rivulet seemed to pulse as an artery would. The blade was wickedly serrated, and looked capable of cutting through Sterling's armour quite easily. Like the sabre, this blade seemed to gleam with runic characters, but pale violet instead of frosty blue.

For a long moment, both parties stared at each other. In that moment, the three space-farers came to a similar conclusion: They did not know why, but something about this native's calm expression said that he was not someone they would want to cross, primitive though he may be. It was he who eventually broke the silence when he not only spoke, but spoke _English_.

"What manner of men and..." He paused for a blink as he looked at Liara "... beast-folk are you, who travel from the stars in flying machines?" His English was heavily accented and sounded almost like a mixture of British and Australian. Sterling and Ashley were both so baffled by the odds of understanding the native once again being in their favour that both of them were actually gawping. Liara blinked several times as she contemplated the term he had just used to describe her. As was to be expected, Sterling recovered first.

"We're Human and Asari. My name's Sterling Shepard." He held out his hand, wondering if the native knew the gesture. Sterling was just a little disappointed when all he did was look down at the offered appendage.

"It's called a handshake. What you do is-"

"I am aware of the gesture Sterling Shepard, having performed it many times with my fellow men, mer and beast-folk." He interrupted not unkindly, but with a voice lacking warmth. "I simply reserve it for those whom I trust."

Stung, Sterling retracted his hand. "Fair enough. Continuing, this is Ashley Williams," the native nodded slightly at her "and Liara T'Soni, the Asari that I mentioned earlier." The archaeologist raised her hand in a wave, but received only a nod similar to that given to Ashley.

"Then I hope you will forgive my referring to you as a beast, Liara T'Soni, for I did not know your creed." He said in reply.

"That's alright," she waved off. "Who are you?" She followed up, voice rising in expectancy. Sterling and Ashley also became more attentive. In their excitement, they had forgotten that the native did not possess a translator unit, and was staring inquisitively at Liara.

"Right, you don't have a translator." Ashley surmised. "What she said is she doesn't mind what you called her, and asked who you are." She paraphrased. Liara nodded in affirmation.

The native blinked once and pursed his lips, but refrained from answering for a moment. "For the time being, I shall remain nameless; knowing another's name gives you power over them. Here in Skyrim at least." He added. While annoyed at the dodge, Sterling capitalized upon the other information the native had just given him.

"So this planet is called Skyrim?" He prodded. The native shook his head.

"No. We currently converse within the province of Skyrim. The country in which Skyrim is a part of is called Tamriel. The world which you have 'discovered' is called Nirn." He elaborated. Liara was listening intently, the archaeologist in her taking over.

"Ask him what his people are called." She said to the Humans.

"Liara asked what your people are called." Sterling relayed.

"My people specifically are called _Dunmer_. In the common tongue, we are known as Dark Elves." He said to the astonishment of the Humans.

"Wait, _elves_? Really?" Ashley blurted with no small amount of incredulity in her voice. One of the native's brows rose.

"There are no mer from where you hail? Strange, you so resemble a Nord and an Imperial." The elf replied, glancing at the pale engineer and the tanned soldier.

"Are those other people that live here?" Sterling asked.

"Yes. _Dunmer_, Nords and Imperials are three of the twelve peoples that inhabit Skyrim, and Tamriel by extension." He explained. "And while I do enjoy the sunshine and the tranquility brought to me by the Lady Azura's Shrine, I shall never grow to love the cold. If you will follow me, I shall lead you somewhere warmer and we can commiserate over a cup of wine. What say you?" He asked.

Sterling motioned for Ashley and Liara to join him a few paces away from the Dark Elf. "What do you think?" He asked.

"I don't trust him." Ashley whispered. Sterling almost rolled his eyes. Even months later and serving with a mixed-species crew, her xenonationalist attitude still bubbled under the surface. "And I'd rather not go somewhere with a potential enemy."

"I must agree with Ashley in that I do not trust him, but he has given no indication that he wishes us harm." Liara added. If Sterling knew anything about their resident Asari, it was that she would go to great lengths in the pursuit of knowledge. Sterling spared the Dark Elf a glance, noting that he was looking up at the face of 'Azura' with something akin to reverence on his face.

"... We're going with him." He finally decided. "But if he becomes hostile Ash, you can do the honours." He added upon seeing the look on his girlfriend's face. Appeased, she nodded and the group returned their attention to the native.

"We'll come with you," He said to the Elf, who had returned to watching them intently. "But understand that-"

"Any perceived act of hostility will be met with force." The Elf finished. "_Paaz_. A fair answer." He grinned slightly at the surprise on their faces. "I would expect no less from strangers in a strange land."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Liara asked. After Sterling translated for her, the Dark Elf actually chuckled.

"Your weapons are fearsome, as that Ice Wraith can attest," he jerked his head towards the glowing bluish dust Ashley had destroyed "but any machine of destruction you bring from the stars stand pale against eldritch powers and unimaginable evils I have conquered." It was not a boast, simply a factual declaration. While she did not totally believe him, a small part of Ashley's mind wondered what these 'eldritch powers and unimaginable evils' could be. As he made for the steps, Sterling asked one more question.

"Is there something we _can_ call you? I don't want to be calling you 'Dark Elf' or 'Native' for our entire stay." He said. The Elf stopped on the first step and turned to look at them out of the corner of his almond-shaped eyes.

"Call me Dragonborn." 'Dragonborn' answered. "Now let us go, it is a fair distance to our destination."

* * *

><p>As they trudged west through the mountain range after informing the remainder of the <em>Normandy<em>'s crew what was happening, The three spacers continued to pepper the Dragonborn with questions, which he did not seem to mind answering.

"You said that shrine we met at was Azura's Shrine. Is Azura one of your gods?" Ashley asked, rather interested in the possible theism of Nirn's inhabitants.

"... In a sense," the Dragonborn said after a moment. "Azura is the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk, the magic in between realms of twilight. It was she who created my people, and though it was not entirely out of benevolence, is a subject of our worship." He elaborated.

"Prince? I thought Azura was female." Ashley protested. Sterling and Liara too were confused.

"While they choose their appearance, Daedra are genderless in nature." The Dragonborn answered calmly.

"You keep calling her a Daedric Prince. What does that mean?" Sterling asked for Liara.

"There exist two kinds of immortal whose wills have shaped Nirn. They are the Aedra and the Daedra. What can you tell me of the god or gods you worship, Ashley Williams?" He asked. After she obliged, he continued. "It would seem that your god is in line with the Aedra worshipped throughout Tamriel, commonly dubbed the Nine Divines. While they represent deities in line with what you perceive as a god, the Daedric Princes are immensely powerful beings that unlearned mortals consider 'evil gods'. While it is true that harm or misfortune often follow a Daedra's work upon the mortal plane, our concept of morality cannot be applied to them, for they exist at both ends of the spectrum.

"Lady Azura is one such Daedra whose dealings with we mortals are often beneficial. It was she who granted visions to her subjects, warning them of the Red Mountain's eruption and desecration of Morrowind." Here the Dragonborn paused as if contemplating something.

"The Red Mountain wouldn't happen to be the volcano erupting east of here, would it?" Sterling asked, receiving a nod in reply. "When did that happen?"

"Just over two hundred years ago." He answered. Sterling whistled softly.

"Call me skeptical, but I find all of this hard to believe." Ashley interjected. The Dragonborn did not lash out at her for her blasphemy, simply nodding.

"And I would not expect you to without proof, which I shall provide in due time." He said. A moment of silence passed, broken only when the Dragonborn looked to his right at some sort of structure carved into the mountain. It appeared to be a concave slab with an odd carving just above it, a set of stairs leading to the base of the slab.

"He must be on the hunt." the Dragonborn muttered. When pressed, he simply stated that they would not believe him. Knowing that they would not get an answer out of him, the spacers moved on to different topics.

"Liara wants to know what kind of government you have." Sterling translated.

"Currently, Tamriel answers to the law of the Empire in Cyrodiil, the province directly south of Skyrim. Every province, however, has its own form of government that answers to the Imperial Emperor, Titus Mede II. Skyrim is currently ruled by Her Majesty, Queen Elisif the Fair. Each hold though, is ruled by a Jarl. Their own personal fiefdom, I suppose you could say. While each Jarl controls their hold in their own fashion, they must respect and abide by the laws set forth by Her Majesty Elisif." Sterling could sense the respect in the Dragonborn's voice.

"I take it you have a lot of respect for Elisif." He stated. The Dark Elf nodded.

"I admire her somewhat. To rise from a lost widow and lead a province during a civil war after her husband was murdered before her eyes took no small amount of fortitude. To compound such, I am a Thane of her court, a title she honored me with for my service to the people of Haafingar Hold." He explained, eliciting looks of surprise from the spacers as the Dragonborn revealed he was part of a royal court. Liara recovered the quickest and asked another question, translated by Sterling.

"Every Jarl has their own court, not just Her Majesty. As for who composes it, there are some variances. But who definitely sits upon it is the Jarl, his Steward, and the Court Wizard. The number of Thanes-"

"Court _Wizard_?" Ashley repeated disbelievingly.

"Perhaps that is their term for biotics." Liara surmised. She immediately took back her words after Sterling translated and a brief demonstration, and the Dragonborn glared angrily at her.

"Because you are from the stars, I shall forgive your ignorant impudence this one time, Liara T'Soni. Nothing could be farther from the truth." He almost growled.

"You've shown us some things we thought were only fantasies Dragonborn, but magic without proof is kind of pushing it." Sterling affirmed evenly.

"If it is proof you wanted, you could have asked without slandering the name of one of the oldest and most noble arts." The Dragonborn snarked before reaching into one of his satchels. From it, he pulled a small rock.

"Behold a simple piece of iron ore," he explained. The spacers tensed slightly when he held up his left hand, glowing with green light. "With a small application of magicka..." He clenched his fist, and the iron nugget flashed a similar shade of green. Once the light dissipated, the nugget had gained a glint that was not there before.

"It becomes silver. With just a little more..." Another flash, and the silver had changed. "... You have gold." He smiled smugly at the dumbfounded spacers. They snapped out of their trance when the Dragonborn held the small nugget out to Liara.

"A souvenir of your visit, Liara T'Soni, courtesy of a mage." He grinned just a little wider as she took the gold nugget.

"Is there anything else you can do?" Sterling asked.

"A more appropriate question would be 'Is there anything else I _cannot_ do'." The Dragonborn corrected. Sterling waited in anticipation, but the Dragonborn said no more. It was as though he derived pleasure from annoying them. They had no further questions for the Dragonborn, content to follow him down the mountain. The shallower slopes eventually broke off to reveal a gorgeous vista of planes. Mountains thrust up into the sky, with one standing taller than the rest and cloaked by clouds. Occupying the midground was a walled city, the likes of which Sterling and Ashley had only seen in history books. Stone walls protected the lower city, yellow thatched roofs peeking over the top. Ascending higher was a small palace, presumably where the 'Jarl' lived. Outside the walls, a handful of farms and windmills poked out of the ground, most standing around a river that ran through the city and to the east. Deer or some facsimile leaped about, both near and far.

"That's beautiful." Ashley breathed. "Never in a million years did I think I'd see a place this quiet." The Dragonborn turned to regard her.

"Your cities are far more vast than this?" He asked. Sterling nodded.

"Where we come from, Earth, Thessia and Sirona, there are cities that can stretch as high as the clouds and go on for as far as the eye can see." He said. The Dragonborn kept his reaction to a slight widening of his eyes.

"Fascinating," he said. "I would very much desire a chance to glimpse these cities you speak of." He admitted. That was the hook Sterling had been looking for.

"Maybe if our governments work out an agreement, I can make that happen." He said. The Dragonborn grinned just a little wider. "Are we going to the city?"

"No. My home lies just to the west." He replied. In the three hours they had been hiking, the sun had moved incredibly quickly, and the light was changing to a dull orange just dark enough to make the ground treacherous. After seeing Liara stumble once out of the corner of his eye, the Dragonborn thrust an open palm into the air, creating a brilliant ball of light for them to see with. Liara nodded her thanks and they continued on.

The spacers and their guide spent less than half an hour moving west before they came upon the Dragonborn's home. "Welcome to Heljarchen Hall." He announced, gesturing to the manor before them. Despite it being made of wood, stone and clay, the spacers were impressed at the handiwork. A small atrium led into a larger main hall, which sported three wings. From the square west wing, a patio with a table and chairs stood for outdoor dining. The north wing was a tower, befitting a mage like the Dragonborn. The east wing was square as well, but instead had a pair of archery targets and a few benches. Separate from Heljarchen Hall was presumably the Dragonborn's metalworking station: A smelter, a forge, a tanning rack and a workbench sat clustered together with ingots and pieces of hide strewn about. They were fairly certain the Dragonborn said something about cleaning the work area up.

"You're a wizard, and you can forge weapons too?" Sterling asked, more than a little impressed.

"Indeed. I trust very few smiths to create quality weapons, and none but myself to create Icingdeath and Twinkle." He replied, stroking the pommels of his blades. Sterling and Ashley shared a look as they continued towards the atrium. As they entered the home, multiple voices rose from inside, and all of their stomachs began to growl as a delicious scent wafted up to their nostrils. The voices grew more excited as the Dragonborn removed Icingdeath and Twinkle, set them in a chest and threw open the doors to the cavernous main hall.

"Papa! Papa!" A high-pitched voice cried in delight. All three spacers felt their insides go a little mushy as two small children thundered down from the second level, squealing happily. The Dragonborn's grin morphed into a smile as he crouched down and caught the two grey-skinned missiles. With a grunt of effort, he lifted his children and spun them around.

"You grow heavy, little ones." He said with a smile. Due to the configuration of his face, the smile only made him look less grumpy. "Soon I shall have to use my magick to lift you."

"Papa!" the little girl squealed "that is not what you say to a lady!" Liara had to grin a little at that.

"Ah, but you are not yet a lady, my dear. Even if you were, you would still be my little girl." The Dragonborn returned with great amusement.

"Who are they, Papa?" The little boy asked in a tone barely more than a murmur.

"They are Sterling Shepard, Ashley Williams and Liara T'Soni. They are explorers from beyond the stars who thirst for knowledge of our world." He said, pointing at each spacer when he indicated them. "Explorers, meet my children, Arya and Ranoth." He pointed at his daughter and then his son.

"Hello!" Arya chirped happily with a smile. The spacers noted that the little girl's features seemed... softer than her father's. Her forehead was not as sloped, her cheeks were not as sharp and her eyes were more ovoid than almond. They were also a dark amber colour that complimented her foghat grey skin. Ranoth said nothing, simply raising his hand in greeting. Like his sister, his features were softer than the Dragonborn's, yet they retained the sharpness of masculinity. His eyes were vermillion, much closer in colour to his father's eyes than Arya's. As he lowered his arm, his eyes drifted towards Liara and he adopted an expression akin to one studying a particularly vexing math problem.

"It is rude to stare, Ranoth." The Dragonborn admonished gently. His son lowered his eyes and gave a brief apology. His cowed expression dimmed slightly when Liara smiled at him.

"Honoured guests, if you wish to unburden yourselves, you may set your arms and armour in the atrium. Arya, Ranoth, please go and tell Mama that we shall sup with three guests this evening." The Dragonborn ordered kindly. As his children scrambled off, he walked with the spacers back into the atrium as they set down various bits and pieces of equipment they carried. Sterling wanted to earn the trust of the Dragonborn, or at least allay his suspicion, so he discarded the pistol and shotgun he carried, as well as both his grenade bandoliers. Equally, if not more mistrusting than the Dragonborn, Ashley kept her pistol, but discarded her other three weapons. Liara discarded her pistol, but even the Dragonborn knew that she still had her biotics.

"Erm, Dragonborn," Sterling began haltingly. "I couldn't help but notice that your children... don't look a whole lot like you." He said. "Is that a developmental thing?"

"Well, I suppose it is. My wife is not cut from the same cloth as I, so to speak. Come, I suspect she will want to meet you and scold me for bringing strangers into our home." He said with a small amount of humour.

"You mean, you can interbreed with the other species on Nirn?" Ashley deduced with no small amount of surprise. The Dragonborn looked back with two cocked eyebrows.

"Can you not sire and bear children with the other star-faring creeds?" He rebutted. Dead silence answered his query. "You cannot? Such a shame." He sighed.

"Actually, Asari can have children with any species. But those children are always Asari." Liara explained and Sterling translated. The Elf nodded slowly in understanding before returning to the great hall. As they re-entered, the spacers took notice of a woman- who, to their shock, was identical to a human- ladling out a thick, delicious-looking stew into bowls around the table.

Immediately evident was the fact that the woman was taller than the Dragonborn. And not that Sterling would mention it, but she looked to outweigh the Dark Elf by a good ten pounds of muscle. Her hair was dark brown, nigh black, and two small braids framed her not unattractive face. Stormy grey eyes were bright as silver against her snow-white skin, and her pink lips were as luscious as even his beloved Ashley's. While clearly not woven to accentuate, the woman's well toned body was easily seen through her straw-yellow dress. Her arms and upper chest were left bare, a tantalizing taste of the secrets kept beneath her clothes. But for all her beauty and the way Arya and Ranoth looked upon her in adoration when she smiled at them, none of the spacers were blind to the foot long dagger she kept slung at her belt. The hilt curved to better sit within the contours of the wielder's hand, and hair-thin silver inlays carved pleasant patterns across both the sheath and the hilt.

"You must be the guests my husband failed to mention would be joining us." She stated softly, sending a look towards her aforementioned husband. The Dragonborn responded with a smile before wrapping her up in a hug and laying claim to those luscious lips. Arya squealed in disgust, as children were wont to do upon seeing their parents' displays of affection towards each other. Ranoth remained quiet, but looked away from his kissing parents.

As he released his wife with a smack of his lips and a whisper in her ear, the Dragonborn addressed the spacers once again. "My guests, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to Lydia, my former housecarl, my battle-sister, my friend, and above all, the love of my life. My love, I am sorry I did not send a message ahead, but my meeting Sterling Shepard, Ashley Williams and Liara T'Soni was... an unexpected revelation." He settled on after introducing his guests.

"How was meeting a Nord, an Imperial and a..." Lydia trailed off as she tried to describe Liara.

"Liara T'Soni is an Asari, and Sterling Shepard and Ashley Williams are both of the same species. I say meeting them was unexpected, as they are explorers from beyond the heavens." He explained, eliciting a widening of his wife's eyes.

"Beyond the heavens, you say." She repeated slowly. "Well then, I shall look forward to hearing tales of your exploits, wanderers-from-lands-unknown. Please, have a seat." Lydia motioned to the three chairs on the left side of the table. Each had an empty goblet, a large chunk of fresh bread and a steaming hot bowl of stew filled with hunks of meat, chunks of potatoes, what looked a great deal like leeks and slices of carrots.

"So, fellow adventurers, what drink tickles your fancy? I have ale, I have Nord mead- always popular- I have Alto wine, Colovian brandy, Cyrodilic if you want something lighter, and... Yes, I do believe a few bottles of Black-Briar Reserve still remain." The Dragonborn stopped to stare at the spacers, waiting for their choices.

"Um... I will have a glass of the Alto wine." Liara said, translated by Sterling.

"I'll try the mead." Sterling added.

"Make it two." add Ashley. The Elf nodded and bounded off to fetch the drinks.

"Miss Liara," Ranoth said quietly, "Why do you not speak like us?" He asked. Liara couldn't help but smile at the shy but inquisitive child before relaying what she wanted to say to Sterling.

"Liara hasn't learned to speak our language Ranoth, so she has to use a special machine that we all have-" here he pointed to himself, Ashley and Liara, "-to have her words changed so that we can understand her." He explained.

"But why hasn't she learned to speak our language? Or you hers? Friends should know how to speak to each other." Ranoth reasoned. The spacers were just a little surprised at the profoundness of the little boy's statement.

"Well, you see, our translators- the special machines- make it so we don't _have_ to learn each other's language. Doing that takes a lot of time." Ashley elaborated. Ranoth, apparently satisfied, nodded. The Dragonborn chose that moment to return, clutching two bottles of mead, a large bottle of presumably Cyrodilic brandy, and an oddly-shaped bottle that would not have been out of place at a bazaar in the 19th Century.

"What's that you've got there, DB?" Ashley asked. The Dragonborn looked at her crookedly.

"'DB'?" He repeated.

"Yeah, y'know... Dragonborn... DB?" She elaborated, waving her hand and hoping he picked up on it. After a moment, he shrugged.

"I suppose for one ignorant of that title's meaning, it can become tiresome to say." He admitted as he poured Liara a dark golden cup of brandy, and himself a deep maroon cup of whatever that was.

"Emberbrand wine." DB answered Ashley's unasked question. "It is crafted in Solstheim, to the northeast of here. It is incredibly potent though, and even we Dunmer cannot ingest much before we grow ill of it."

For several minutes proceeding, the spacers said nothing, content to enjoy the sweet burn of their mead and brandy, as well as the incredibly zestful stew, which they quickly learned to be venison. As they enjoyed their first non-military-ration meal in months, DB spoke with his children. Arya gleefully regaled her father with her tale of striking even nearer to the heart of one of the targets with her bow and arrows. All of the adults had to smile when she continued on to say she had 'disarmed Mama' in sword practice. Ranoth, ever quiet, said nothing until coaxed. He went on to describe being able to cast a 'Courage spell' on a goat which, to his embarrassment, started to chase him around.

"Still, to cast such a spell in such a short time of learning is very impressive, my son." DB beamed. Ranoth ducked his head, but smiled at the praise. "One day, you shall be even a finer mage than I."

When Ranoth mumbled his disagreement, DB placed his hand on his son's shoulders. "I say that my son, because thrice your age I was before I mastered that spell. 'Twas even longer before I could use it without exhausting my magicka. But most important of all, I did not possess your mother's indomitable spirit." Here he smiled at Lydia, who returned it for the compliment.

"Ah, but enough about the dreary lives of the Dragonborn and his beloved family; our guests must be dying to regale us with tales of their mysterious homes." Lydia interjected, focusing expectantly on the spacers, who gladly obliged the questions sent their way. From simple topical questions, asked by Arya and Ranoth, to those that required back stories and separate explanations from the Dragonborn and his wife. As the hours of talking went on, Sterling noticed the look in the Dark Elf's eyes. A look that told the SPECTRE that sooner rather than later, these mysterious if primitive people would be joining the galactic stage.

He just hoped that magic would be easier to explain to the Council than Reapers.

* * *

><p><strong>And there's another chapter, featuring a Dragonborn I hold very close to my heart. Would you kindly:<strong>

**1. Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**2. Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**3. Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**4. Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Bonus: Tell me what the Dragonborn's name is, based on the clues I've hidden in this chapter.**

**DR**


	11. The Old Guard

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 11: The Old Guard**

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><p>We've all heard it before. A young race with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, rushing pell-mell through the stars, only to be put to the sword by a species unsettled by their impetuousness. After rising to the call of war, the peacemakers cry out, beseeching both sides to drop their guns and the newcomers to join them. As they do, they uncover facets of the aggressors' culture that make blame difficult to bestow, especially compounded with the laws imposed by the greater government.<p>

There will be dissidents, of course. Dissidents who decry the limitations on fleet numbers and sharing technologies, despite reassurances of assisted border protection and returns on technology. Dissidents who decry trusting aliens who allowed the travesty that was their first contact to happen, and the attack dogs who perpetrated it. Even dissidents who mourned the fact that the aliens were allowed onto their worlds.

Of course, these were the men and women who were not smart enough to keep their views to themselves, further colouring their species in all the wrong ways. The smart ones who shared their views kept silent, accepting the decisions of the politicians with quiet consternation. One man whose hatred for the 'attack dogs' could char a continent, served as the exemplar of the dissidents despite the position thrust upon him.

Before he was appointed to his position, serving the alien leaders, one of whom he wished a slow and painful death upon, he was held as an example for recruits whose superiors wished to prove that one who came from nothing could become great. The man, born to a blue collar family from Detroit, Michigan, grew up with next to no luxuries. At the age of seventeen, with fake papers and biometrics, he enlisted in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps. By the time his superiors realized their mistake, he had proved himself to be highly suited for warfare, with a particular emphasis on adaptability. A year out of Basic, he and his unit were shipped off to a brand new frontier world for the purpose of running through military exercises with the Colonial Marine branch stationed there.

Very quickly, the military exercise became a baptism of fire.

Through burning wrecks of buildings, dismembered bodies of both creeds and storms of bullets, he survived. Even when he was forced to fight and kill one of the invaders- superior in every way except deviant thinking- in the oldest method in existence, he came out on top. By the end of the very short war, at the signing of the Treaty of Armistice, his dedication to the cause, despite methods bordering on barbarism, earned him a Bronze Star and the rank of Corporal. Two years later, after three tours of their borders, relentless work and use of the same psychological warfare he used during his first campaign, he was promoted to Staff Sergeant. In a startling display of skill, within three years of enlisting, he proudly pinned the golden bar of a 2nd Lieutenant to his dress blues. After five more years, he had transferred from the Marine Corps to the Navy, and as a Captain, served as the CO aboard the frigate SSV _Carthage_. Ten years later, now a Commodore, he was assigned to Operation BLACK PEARL, a retaliatory strike against a known staging area for various pirate and slaver bands operating out of the lawless arms of the galaxy. This particular area had sheltered the animals who had dared to attack his people, and now he had the chance to pay them back for it. From the air, his wiliness had netted the _Carthage_ three frigates and even a _cruiser_. No small feat for a fast-attack vessel. His achievements were pushed to the side in favour of the true star of BLACK PEARL, Felicia Kingry, who was later christened 'the Butcher of Torfan'. The Admiralty's decision was probably for the best, seeing as he had broken formation, dove into the atmosphere and bombarded various weapon emplacements and sensor suites with his ship's entire payload of disruptor and JAVELIN torpedoes.

Despite morally questionable actions, he was given the two stars of a Rear Admiral and given command of the cruiser SSV _Oslo_. For the next five years, he quietly served as the guard of his people, and doing his damnedest to undermine the aliens he would never forgive for their insult against his people. Come 2183, the ambassador for his people would finally be granted the privilege to have one soldier evaluated to join the elite arm of the collective government; a large step towards his people's dream of shaping galactic policy. From his place on the side, he expressed quiet approval, never expecting the subsequent call from Steven Hackett, a fellow admiral and his longtime friend.

There were many candidates from the Human Systems Alliance that could have been put forward for SPECTRE evaluation. Staff Sergeant Kristoff Stottzmann, N3 combat engineer, and the sole survivor of a thresher maw attack on Akuze; Lieutenant-Commander Kayleigh MacLaren, L3 biotic of the 103rd, and the only reason Elysium was still standing after 2176; hell, even the infiltration and sabotage expert Felicia Kingry, who was looked upon as a mass murderer- both in the conventional sense, and for the fact that she had sent most of her unit to their deaths at Torfan- was a good pick, known for always getting the job done.

Instead, they chose him. A no-name Rear Admiral who, while clever and with a few notable achievements, was a lifer who just did his job. He had been told on numerous occasions that he ought to run both the _Carthage_ and the _Oslo_ tighter, but in his nineteen years of experience, he found that being friends with the crew formed a tighter bond between them. He had kept his incredible distaste for the more influential aliens- one much more than the others- to himself, knowing that expressing those views could draw attention to his quiet support of pro-human elements. And to be perfectly honest, he wondered how the hell his unique brand of psychological warfare hadn't made the 'attack dogs' call for his execution.

To the people, he was nigh unknown. To his soldiers (the women) he was quietly called 'the Silver Fox'. To the Admiralty, he was a member of the 'Old Guard'. Who was he?

He was Rear Admiral Bruce Shepard, the Headhunter of Shanxi.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: I've been floating this idea for a while. Having not seen too many fics where Shepard doesn't adhere to the SpacerColonist/(Impoverished) Earthborn and Sol Survivor/War Hero/Ruthless background, I feel that this story could be a breath of fresh air. Please...**

**1) Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**3) Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**4) Recommend a suitable improvement**

**5 (Optional) Refer me to a purely Mass Effect story where Shepard does not fit into the backgrounds BioWare has given us.**

**Cheers,**

**DR **


	12. The Old Guard 2: Odyssey

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Kind of a chilly reception to the last chapter, but this idea's stuck so deep in my head that I just had to write another chapter.**

**Chapter 12: The Old Guard 2: Odyssey**

* * *

><p>The slivery, gyroscopic rings of the Mass Relay began to rotate at nigh sickening speeds to one who would watch them for too long. Blue flashes sprang into existence for milliseconds at a time, with one particularly large nova heralding the arrival of a ship. The hulking machine quickly decelerated, and silently began to crawl across the vast stretch of void between it and its destination. Its white and blue hull shone proudly against the inky blackness of space. From any angle, it almost resembled an Earth stingray that had been stretched at the point of its mouth and tail, and then bent down at either side. From the prow, its half-kilometer main gun ran nearly the entirety of its five-hundred-eighty-five meter length. At the front of either of its forward-swept wings, letters just under a storey high spelled out the words SSV OSLO, the name of the Systems Alliance Vancouver-class light cruiser flying at full burn through the gorgeous red and blue swirls of the Arcturus Stream.<p>

At the fore quarter, with its highest section just a few metres superior to the main superstructure, the _Oslo_'s bridge looked forwards over the main gun and to the side, over the wings. The ovoid room itself was comparable in size to a basketball court. At its epicenter was the Galaxy Map, a tremendous hologram of the Milky Way capable of displaying any known system. Anterior and lateral to the map were various bridge staff, inputting information to various consoles, taking or giving orders, making modifications or running procedures and of course, piloting the ship. Posterior to the floor-to-ceiling hologram was a single vinyl chair surrounded by various holo-terminals detailing the goings-on around the _Oslo_. In the chair, slowly scrolling through the multiple megabytes of information that came in every ten or so minutes was the _Oslo_'s commanding officer, Rear Admiral Bruce Shepard, the Headhunter of Shanxi.

To any man or woman, regardless of whether or not they knew him, and even some aliens, he cut an imposing figure. He had not wore a hardsuit for a number of years, yet he managed to keep a physique that was the envy of men fifteen years his junior, made prominent by the tailored blue dress uniform he was in. His pale grey-blue eyes radiated dominance earned through years of experience. The slight sagging of his skin under his eyes and under his jaw did not detract from his ability to make anyone feel as though they were staring down a jaguar. Above his left eye, a faint white line of skin bisected his eyebrow; a souvenir from a classified Alliance op against anti-human Turian extremists. His eyebrows, his stubbly full beard and his full head of hair were beginning to transition to an ashen grey, brought on by stress instead of age. At forty-four years old, Shepard was just under one-third of the way through the human average lifespan which, thanks to modern medicine and augmentation technology, now sat around one hundred and fifty years. Even so, he was one of the younger members of what was privately called 'The Old Guard', the term applied to Alliance personnel who had enlisted before the First Contact War, survived, and had been promoted to officers. Their group was generally known as being the most experienced members of every division of the Alliance, and could always be counted on to get the job done. Notable members included Captain David Anderson of the SSV _Tokyo_, the first N7 elite operative, and Admiral Steven Hackett of the Fifth Fleet, widely seen as the most brilliant commanding officer since Jon Grissom's reign ended in 2160. Shepard had shared a drink and swapped stories with these men on many occasions, and considered them both friends.

Speaking of which, David Anderson was the contact Shepard was taking his ship to meet at Arcturus Station, the political and military capital of the Alliance. The enormous Stanford-Torus type station made the _Oslo_ and the one-hundred-and-two ships of the Fifth Fleet look the size of children's toys. Even the enormous SSV _Everest_, the fleet flagship and class leader, and the _Alan Turing_, the Einstein-class carrier, looked small.

With a few taps of his hand on the holographic interface, Shepard established a comm link with Arcturus Control. "Arcturus Flight Control, this is SSV _Oslo_ requesting docking clearance. Transmitting authorization codes." He recited quietly. Three seconds passed by his reckoning.

"Codes accepted and request granted, _Oslo_. Proceed to docking bay Bravo-Four. Welcome back, Admiral." The young-sounding voice from the other end replied.

"Tomasso, Jun, take us in." Shepard ordered. The two Navigators did not reply, choosing to carry out their duty quickly. As the ship slowly made its way to the docking tube near the end of the left arm (relative to their position), Shepard stood and stretched his legs. As the _Oslo_ shuddered when the magnetic clamps secured it in place, he opened a ship-wide comm line.

"Attention all staff, Bruce here. Good work on this patrol, even though it got cut short. I've got some business to take care of here, and we'll be here for three days. That being said, I'm authorizing every one of you to take seventy-two hours of shore leave while I deal with this business. Spend it wisely. Bruce out." As he closed the link, he heard animated chattering from his bridge staff at the thought of time off and a small smile crept up his face. It felt good to make the day of his crew.

* * *

><p>"Captain Anderson," Shepard addressed his fellow officer with a salute. The well-built captain returned it instantly. Barely a second had passed before they dropped the stone-faced professionalism and adopted grins worn by reunited friends who had not seen each other in a while.<p>

"Good to see you again, Bruce." Anderson said as they shook hands.

"You too, David. You still only a captain?" He asked with a teasing undertone. Shepard and Anderson had been playing up this running gag ever since he had been promoted to Commodore, while Anderson had kept his position.

"This captain can still kick your ass, Bruce." Anderson shot back with the same smile in his voice. "_And_ he's got a bigger ship to boot."

It was true. David Anderson was the commanding officer of the SSV _Tokyo_, the class leader of the Alliance's heavy cruisers. At seven-hundred-thirteen meters, it was nearly as long as the _Kilimanjaro_, the Alliance's first dreadnought (888m). Also unlike its light cruiser counterpart, heavy cruisers sported two main guns, thirty Disruptor torpedo launchers, twelve GARDIAN batteries and ten broadside mass accelerators per flank. Light cruisers like the _Oslo_ had only one main gun, sixteen Disruptor pods, eight GARDIAN batteries and six broadside cannons. That being said, heavy cruisers were also designed for fleet escort and space engagements, whereas light cruisers were designed for escort and troop transport. Both of them knew that they couldn't really compare the two fairly, but it never stopped them from trading jabs.

"It's not the size, David, it's all in how you use it." Shepard continued as Anderson directed him away from the docking bay.

"And yet women still choose to come to me." He countered with a mocking shake of his head. Shepard slowly ran his hand through his greying hair as he fished for a response.

"Well, you know what they say: The owner of a lonely heart is better than the owner of a broken heart." He quoted, alluding to Anderson's divorce from his ex-wife Cynthia. Anderson gave a small snort before falling silent.

"... Damn it, I've got nothing. You win this one Bruce." He admitted. Shepard smacked him on the shoulder gently.

"Damn right I do. So what's happening? You wouldn't call me away from border patrol unless it was important." Shepard surmised. Anderson looked around shiftily before nodding and passing Shepard an OSD. Shepard activated his Omni-tool and quickly transferred the data. A report bearing the sigil of Alliance Intelligence appeared, immediately telling Shepard that whatever he was walking into was highly classified. As the sigil disappeared, a large block of text slowly scrolled up from the bottom of his screen, bearing the title...

"Welcome to Project ODYSSEY, Admiral." Anderson began. "I would have let you know sooner, but the secrecy was necessary. Off the record? Even most of the Old Guard doesn't know; the only other member in the loop is Steve, and that's only because he's stationed here." Anderson began in a low voice. The inclusiveness of ODYSSEY warranted a cocked eyebrow from Shepard.

"So super secret stuff. Can you tell me a little more? A lot of this report's been redacted. All I can get is that we're working on some sort of prototype drive core with... the Turian Hierarchy." His mood immediately soured. Anderson almost pinched the bridge of his nose. He sincerely hoped Shepard's distaste for the 'Council attack dogs' as he said when he was being polite, would not prove a large hindrance.

"Yes Bruce, we undertook this project with the Turians. I know you know, but the Alliance wants a bigger role in galactic policy, and that means we all have to play nice." He said firmly. Shepard was silent for a moment before he grunted noncommittally.

"Fine. You also didn't answer my question." He stated in an attempt to redirect their conversation.

"Of course. Like you said, it's a prototype drive core specifically designed to internalize heat and high band emissions in sinks spread throughout the ship. To make a long story short, this feature makes whatever ship the core is on invisible to most conventional sensors. I trust you're smart enough to see the benefits of this project." Anderson asked with another grin. Shepard took a moment to stroke his stubbly beard and consider the advantages of such technology.

"Yeah, yeah, I see it. A stealth core opens up a whole new set of options for fighting. Covert commando drops, recon behind enemy lines, surprise attacks... I'm sensing a 'but' coming, though." Shepard shot Anderson a pointed look.

"Two, actually. One, the stealth drive makes us invisible to sensors, but not from direct line-of-sight. Your cover's blown as soon as an enemy soldier looks out a window. And two, because it's a joint venture, the Turians have access to these cores too." Anderson answered. Just as Shepard was about to start thinking dark thoughts, his friend continued.

"That being said," he started as they entered an office with no windows. Shepard looked around the room, bare of decoration and likely proofed against surveillance devices. "While having access to this stealth drive is a straight hand for the Turians, the Alliance Brass made sure that we're coming out of this with a royal flush." He said as he sat down at the desk, fired up the computer and began typing away.

"'A royal flush'?" Shepard repeated. Although he was not entirely sure what Anderson was getting at, it sounded like something that they could keep behind their backs to surprise the other races with. Anything that allowed them to screw over the Turians was gold in Shepard's mind. It seemed Anderson was thinking along the same lines, if the sly smile on his face was anything to go by.

"C'mon Bruce. Most of the Alliance may not share your... hatred for the Turians and distaste for the rest of the Citadel bloc, but they're smart enough to know not to let them know we're playing with a stacked hand. Yes, we had to work with the Turians on ODYSSEY, but what we _didn't_ work with them on was another little piece of human ingenuity. More specifically, this." He finished and queued up a command on his console. A hologram sprang to life from the emitter normally used for presentations, and Shepard looked it up and down.

What he saw was the image of a ship. As he was about to comment on the fact that all the Alliance had done was come up with another cruiser design, he stopped and took note of the differences. Firstly, the nose of the ship, unlike either the light or heavy cruiser, had a more pointed profile, unlike the more angular nose of the _Tokyo_ or _Oslo_. If the cruisers were stingrays, this ship was a shark. Also off was the colour of the hull. Where Alliance ships were painted ivory white, this ship was a darker grey colour. The blue accents were also closer to navy, much like Shepard's set of dress blues. The engine blocks also seemed to be slightly out of proportion to the rest of the ship, almost like a set of shoes that were too big for the wearer. The numerous Disruptor torpedo pods seen looked quite close together, and upon closer inspection, Shepard noted septations within each pod, dividing each into threes. An odd design he would need to ask about.

"Dave, what exactly am I looking at here?" Shepard asked.

"The part of ODYSSEY that wasn't in our report _or_ the Turians'. This, Bruce, is the SSV _Odyssey_, the class leader of the new line of Systems Alliance destroyer." Anderson announced. A small smile lit up Shepard's face.

"A ship-killer, huh? Carriers weren't enough?" He asked. Anderson nodded.

"The Alliance council doesn't say it outright, but they do share your beliefs about limiting the number of dreadnoughts, and wanted a way to circumvent our lack of dedicated firepower over the Hierarchy. The eggheads and engineers gave us the destroyer. Alright, technical specs." Here Anderson cued up a data window. "Like the old wet navies of Earth, the destroyer sits between frigate and cruiser weight. More specifically, three-forty long by one-nineteen wide by sixty-four meters tall. You noticed the engines, right?" Shepard nodded. "Good. The engineers designed them that size so that the _Odyssey _can come close, or match a frigate in speed. Moving on, there's the main mass accelerator. And this is the part that really gets me. You'd think that the accelerator on a ship this small wouldn't be too powerful, right? Well, that's solved through a set of power boosters and a recycling circuit here." Anderson zoomed in on the _Odyssey_, highlighting a pair of structures surrounding the root of the main gun. "The _Odyssey_ uses a thirty kilogram slug for ammunition-" (Here Shepard raised his eyebrows; that was bigger than a dreadnought round!) "- and can accelerate it up to point-nine-seven percent of lightspeed. Evened out, the round will impact with the force of a thirty kiloton bomb."

"Damn," Shepard breathed giddily. The _Everest's _main gun impacted with the force of 38 kilotons, and it required a firing chamber 800 meters long. The _Odyssey_'s main gun reactors clearly put out a tremendous amount of power.

"Yep. The destroyer's main gun is nearly as powerful as a dreadnought's. Our simulations show that it should be able to drop the barriers of an Everest or Einstein-class ship and destroy or cripple it in five hits. The only downside, as I'm sure you can figure out, is that the power draw for the gun is so high that it affects the firing rate. The _Odyssey_ should be able to fire a round once every twelve seconds." Anderson said.

_Five rounds a minute... not too terrible. Have to avoid getting blasted, though,_ Shepard thought, only nodding. "Anything else? I noticed that the Disruptor pods look different."

"I'm getting there. There are also two JAVELIN tubes mounted with the main gun for a little extra juice, and two swivel-mounted broadside style mass accelerators with overlapping fields of fire, and a combined field ranging up to 140 degrees. Like you said, the Disruptor mounts are different. This is a result of a design that we're also going to be implementing on the _Aconcagua_." Anderson explained, referring to the dreadnought under construction outside the station. "What we've done is created a pod that launches three torpedoes per firing. A drawback of three torpedoes launched from one pod is that their size, and therefore payload must be reduced. However, what they lack in punch, they make up for with numbers and an increased speed, making it harder to hit them, and able to be launched from farther away. There are twenty-six pods on the _Odyssey_, and if each of them launch simultaneously, that's a salvo of seventy-eight torpedoes. Each pod carried a reserve of twenty rounds, so combined, one ship can throw fifteen-hundred-and-sixty Disruptor torpedoes at an enemy. That's a helluva lot of singularities." Anderson stopped to both catch his breath and allow Shepard to digest the information.

"What about anti-fighter and ordnance protection?" the admiral asked.

"Solved through eight GARDIAN batteries, and eight swivel-mounted broadside cannons located here," He ran his hand along the ship's 'wing', the guns highlighting in green "and here." He pointed to the ridges of the cargo bays rising from each wing, one gun on a 360 degree axis per ridge.

"Another disadvantage of the destroyer is that its cargo capacity had to be reduced to make way for the larger drive core, boosters and recycling circuits. As it stands, the _Odyssey_ can either carry two fighters or two Mako tanks, and two Kodiak shuttles." Anderson added. Shepard nodded.

"While this is all well and good Dave, I have to ask you something I should have asked you a while ago: Why are you telling me this?" He asked. "I already have a ship and a crew, so..." Shepard trailed off for a few seconds. "... I'm getting transferred, aren't I." It was not a question. Anderson nodded.

"I talked with Steve, and he supports your nomination. Why give such a valuable piece of work to some big-headed commander or captain who doesn't know how to treat her right? Now before you start complaining, I know you've got a good thing going with the _Oslo_'s crew, but hard choices have to be made. I felt the same way when I left the _Agincourt_." Anderson reassured sympathetically. Shepard crossed his arms.

"Well, I seriously doubt you had... um... never mind." He deflected. Anderson's eyes narrowed.

"Something I should know, Bruce?" he asked seriously. Shepard remained flippant.

"No. I'm just not supposed to talk about it." He said. Anderson's suspicion simply grew.

"Won't or can't?"

"Not sure why I'm explaining myself to you, _captain_. But no, I can't. Seriously, there's two rules saying I can't talk about it."

"... Oh. _Ohh_... Wait, seriously?"

"Yep. Every Wednesday night."

"Well, that explains Poklonskaya's bruises that one time."

"Yep."

"You do it on the _Carthage _too?"

"Yep."

"Okay then. Well, you won't have to worry about transferring over right away, the _Odyssey_ won't be ready for another month. What you _do_ have to worry about is an assignment that just came down from the top, strictly need-to-know. When the rest of the 44th Scout Flotilla gets here, you, the rest of your ships and the _Tokyo_ will be heading to the Citadel to pick up a guest. I'll send you the data when we're on our way. In the meantime, just relax. You've got three days to kill." Anderson stood up, offered his hand, and grinned when Shepard shook it.

"Well, you'd better come along. As I recall, I picked up your tab last time." Shepard snarked good-naturedly. Anderson laughed as he joined his longtime friend. As they made for the door, Shepard stopped as another question he really should have asked earlier popped into his head.

"One last thing, Dave." He began. "If you were planning on involving me with the _Odyssey_, why mention the stealth drive at all?"

The shit-eating grin Anderson sent his way answered his question before he even said anything.

"Which ship do you think the stealth drive's going in?"

X

**And that's a wrap for 'The Old Guard' chapter 2. Would you kindly:**

**1) Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**3) Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**4) Recommend a suitable improvement**

**5) Let me know if you caught all the references in this chapter**

**6) See my profile for a poll**

**DR **


	13. Insert Mass JokePun Here

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Another tried and true formula which I will now attempt.**

**Chapter X: Insert Mass Joke/Pun Here**

* * *

><p><strong>Shepard:<strong>

One step forward at the cost of two steps back.

Iris Shepard fought to keep a lid on her Irish temper as the ridiculously slow elevator descended. She had just come from the case brought against Saren Arterius- which had been a waste of time- and given shaky leads at best. She hated shaky leads. Nothing ever went according to plan if you didn't go off something solid.

The most plausible lead was Barla Von, a Volus banker with connections to the Shadow Broker, the invisible hand who dropped tidbits of information into the greedy mouths of thugs and politicians alike... although come to think of it, they were one and the same. They just dressed differently. That brought a twitch to Iris' full lips.

Behind her, Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko and Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams dared not say anything, lest they provoke the strawberry blonde's ire. In the short time they had both worked with her, she had proven time and time again that she took no bullshit, and that you either got straight to the point, or you got it beaten out of you. When they had encountered the sequestered dock workers and that lazy ass Powell on Eden Prime, both soldiers had gotten a crash course in all the terrors that ran rampant in their commander's head. They must have been as numerous as the tattoos that littered her body; souvenirs from her less than peachy past in New Jersey.

"Finally," She muttered as the elevator reached the main level of the Citadel Presidium. She had felt the temptation to fire up a cigarette in the elevator to calm her nerves and pass the time, but managed to push it down. She had been ordered by Karen Chakwas to cut back and eventually quit smoking, the good doctor citing a small growth within her left lung. It had been quickly taken care of, but the orders still stood. Iris was willing to go out in a few different ways, but in a bed losing a years-long battle with cancer was _not_ one of them. And it wasn't like she hadn't...

No. Those were the old days. The bad days. They were over and done with, now. Anything that happened before the Alliance could hurt her no longer. She managed to suppress her shiver to a twitch of her arms. Neither Ashley or Kaidan noticed as they began a brisk march across the white metal floor. One or two people stopped to stare at the rapidly-moving band curiously, wondering what would draw the attention of three heavily armed and armoured soldiers. None deigned to say anything, whether out of disinterest or fear was unknown. Either way, if their journey remained uninterrupted, that was good enough for Iris.

"Thugs in suits got you pissed, Commander?"

In most situations, Iris would have ignored whoever had spoken to her, being that they weren't Ashley, Kaidan or a superior officer. It was the exact _wording_ of the person's question that made her stop. Whoever he was- the voice was too deep to be a woman's- he had described the councilors in a way she had thought up randomly not ten minutes ago. The chances of him using the descriptor she had just imagined were beyond astronomical. Iris turned about and set her green eyes upon the speaker.

He was human, first of all. Other than that, he wasn't particularly notable. He wasn't oddly tall, he wasn't incredibly muscular, he didn't look like he belonged on the cover of a tabloid magazine, nothing. He looked to be about an inch taller than her, but at five foot five, Iris wasn't too tall. All of his physical attributes were hidden behind the navy blue trench coat that fell to his knees. A set of equally blue jeans, a type of clothing Iris had seen maybe twice, and a pair of flat shoes made of fake blue-dyed leather completed his ensemble. He was leaning over the railing of a bridge, shoulders loose, and had not turned to look at her. His dark brown hair stuck up and out in the way frazzled mad scientists' did in cheesy vids. Also off was the fact that he wore glasses. Only the most backwater colony worlds didn't possess the relatively cheap equipment required to correct near or far-sightedness. He was either from a nowhere world, or he had chosen not to have his eyes operated on. Stubble ringed his mouth and covered his chin and upper neck, but did not make him look terribly scruffy.

Iris made her observations in less than two seconds. Her analysis was conflicting. Everything about his posture said 'civilian', and was therefore unthreatening, but the way he had called her out- with her _own thoughts_ no less- was ringing the bell in her head that told her to be cautious.

"How do you know about that?" Ashley queried. Her eyes had narrowed suspiciously at the rise this... _kid_ had gotten out of the commander. Although now that she looked, maybe 'kid' wasn't the best descriptor. He looked like he was close to her age.

"Chief," Iris whispered warningly. Ashley blinked and refrained from saying anything else. The ever so slight upturn of his mouth made her job just a little harder.

"She is right though. I'd really like to know how you know that." Iris said. It was an open ended statement, but both soldiers knew that it was anything but. He, whoever he was, didn't seem to get it.

"I know a lot of things, Commander. Things about you, your company," he paused for a moment, turning his head farther away from them as he did so. "That warning the beacon burned into your brain." He finished.

"... What?" Iris asked. Kaidan and Ashley had gone dead still as he dropped his last claim. Iris recovered quickly and closed the gap between the two of them. She seized the lapels of his coat and jerked him about, forcing him to face her.

"_How the hell do you know about that_?!" She hissed, putting as much menace into her voice as possible. Aside from widening his eyes a margin, his face remained blank. She silently gave him a smidge of credit for exercising so much control.

"Well, I wouldn't be very good at my job if I just told anyone anything willy-nilly now, would I?" He asked in return, that little upturn of his mouth growing stronger. His cheek earned him being pushed against the railing, with his upper body hanging over the edge.

"Take a good look at me, pal." Iris snarled. "Do I look like I want to play word games with you?" _Again_ his only reaction was to raise one of his eyebrows.

"Frankly, I'm surprised you took the bait in the first place, but if you want my help then you're gonna have to play my little game to get it." He said in a low voice. Iris' companions still managed to hear him, and closed in like a pair of hyenas on a fresh kill.

"And how exactly are you going to help us?" Kaidan voiced. "You're not military, you're unarmed, so you're either a really brave or stupid merc, and you're clearly not on the Shadow Broker's payroll; none of them would be dumb enough to expose themselves like you just did." He elaborated. As their mysterious new subject turned to Kaidan, his eyes hooded, giving the impression that he was bored.

"The short answer is 'I'm on my own side', Lieutenant. I'm gonna help you with a... hmm... let's call this a test of faith. If you want proof that Saren's dirty," _How does he know about... never mind. He won't tell us._ "Go and take a stroll through the markets by Chora's Den. Saren's mooks are gunning for a Quarian there." He revealed cryptically. Iris responded with one long, slow blink.

"How do we know that's going to help us?" Ashley wondered aloud. The man grinned just a little wider.

"You don't. That's why it's called a test of faith." He said simply.

"Why should I stick my neck out for this Quarian?" Iris asked.

"Well, that's a question you should ask her. Now, would ya mind letting me go? This coat is an antique." He deadpanned. Iris took one more long, hard look into his hazel eyes before she released her grip on his lapels a little harder than necessary.

"Thanks." He said as he pretended to dust himself off. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll see me again." He said as he brushed past them and began a sedate stroll away. The three soldiers watched him go for a moment.

"Commander, you're not really going to listen to him, are you?" Ashley asked not without dubiousness. Kaidan also looked pointedly at her. "For all we know, he's with Saren and is setting us up."

Iris fixed her with a look. "Why would Saren recruit a _human_, Chief?" She asked.

"... Good point. You didn't answer my question, though." She pointed out.

It was a good question. And none of the conclusions Iris reached for made any sense, given what the man knew. He knew far too much to be a simple merc, but her instincts told her he wasn't Alliance Intelligence, and she almost laughed while entertaining the idea that he was a black ops agent. He was far too relaxed to be any sort of military. He could have been a part of that splinter group, Cerberus, but why would they give a damn about anyone who wasn't human? He was... _something_. But his lack of a classification came secondary to the inescapable feeling that his little 'test of faith' would yield results.

He felt kind of familiar, too. That was weird. She could recall almost everyone she had met in her life, but she had never met this man. Why did she feel like she should know him?

"... Fuck it. We've got no better leads. Let's go you two." Iris sighed, reversing direction and making a beeline for a rapid transit terminal. When she wasn't looking, Ashley shook her head.

* * *

><p>"Since you are back Commander, I assume you have a good reason for starting a firefight in the Wards?" Donnel Udina asked rhetorically.<p>

"I suppose you could say that. Tali?" Iris answered without missing a beat. Not recalling that name being used to refer to members of Shepard's party, Udina turned around. The Alliance soldiers were now accompanied by a clearly female Quarian.

"Who do we have here?" David Anderson asked from the balcony, having turned around when he heard Iris' voice.

"Ambassador, Captain, I'm Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Shepard helped me evade Saren's assassins. I have evidence that links him to the Geth." She clarified, seeing the questioning looks from the human higher-ups. As she activated her Omni and it spit out the recording from a dead Geth's memory core, followed by her prattling on about her tumultuous Pilgrimage, the creation of the Geth and what she had hypothesized about the 'Reapers' mentioned in the recording, Iris meandered up to the balcony.

"It seems sending you to Barla Von paid off." Anderson said thoughtfully.

"It wasn't Barla Von who sent us to her, sir." Kaidan interjected.

"Lieutenant?" Udina asked.

"On our way to Von, we... encountered someone." Before he continued, Kaidan cast a furtive glance around, as though scanning the room for invisible listeners. "None of us know who he is, but he knows us, and somehow he knows about Eden Prime."

Anderson shifted at the biotic's revelation. "How much does he know?"

"Everything, sir. The beacon, Saren's involvement... and he implied he knew about our pasts." Kaidan finished. Iris could almost hear Anderson frowning as she looked over the serene streets of the Presidium. As she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk just below Udina's office, a familiar swath of dark blue caught her eye.

It was the man from earlier. He was leaning against the railing and looked to be in conversation with a Turian she very quickly recognized as Garrus Vakarian. On his other side, a tremendous Krogan in bright red armor stood silently with his stubby arms crossed. As though he sensed it, his gaze drifted upwards until their eyes met. As Vakarian and the Krogan turned to look as well, Iris was ever so slightly surprised when he raised his hand to his mouth and blew her a kiss. He followed with a cheeky grin and wave just as Anderson started to speak again.

"Well, I'd very much like to meet this mysterious benefactor of yours, Shepard. Could you pick him out in a crowd?" He asked.

"No need to sir. He's just downstairs." She said shortly and pushed off the railing to head for the door. Her soldiers, Tali and Anderson all followed suit. It seemed this walking breach of OpSec warranted far more attention than Iris thought.

He must have warned his alien companions of their arrival, for Vakarian was clearly tensed and ready to draw his gun, and although she did not know their expressions well, she was certain that the Krogan was snarling at them. She didn't need to turn around to know that Kaidan's biotics were thrumming and Ash's hand was drifting closer to her pistol.

"Nice to see you in one piece, Miss Zorah." He stated, giving Tali a small nod.

"So you're the one that sent Shepard to help me." She answered with a tilt of her head.

"Actually Miss Zorah, I didn't _send_ the Commander anywhere. I just suggested a course of action, and she took it." He retorted.

"Seems you've picked up some company since we last talked." Iris noted, looking at the man's companions.

"I don't know that we 'talked' Commander, it was more of you trying to scare me into giving up information. But yeah, detective Vakarian and Battlemaster Wrex here have just as much of a reason to gun for Saren as you or I." He spared a glance at Anderson. "And I assume what I just said is the reason that the illustrious Captain David Anderson is here." The smirk that crawled onto his face was ever so slightly deranged-looking. It didn't stop Anderson from striding forward right into his personal space, and neither did Vakarian or Wrex, much to Iris' surprise.

"So you're the one who whispered in Shepard's ear." It wasn't a question.

"I am indeed." He replied. "There a reason you're all up in my personal space, Captain?" He asked with a nonchalance that would have been more in line with asking someone for the time.

"I don't know. There a reason you somehow know about something that's only available to officers of the Alliance?" Anderson shot back, mimicking his tone of voice.

"Only available... Captain, with all due respect, that clusterfuck stopped being a secret before your ship even left the Exodus Cluster. That being said, sharing it isn't something I'm too keen on doing. Last thing I want is you and the Alliance going after me." He said with a small grimace.

"That's all well and good, but you didn't answer my question." Anderson said, and Iris could hear a note of impatience in his voice. The man smacking his lips quietly and breaking Anderson's gaze told her that he was getting nervous. He refused to say anything, though.

"Since you know about Eden Prime, I'm assuming you also know that civilians can face prison time for possession of classified Alliance intelligence." Anderson said conversationally. The man's eyes hooded, chilling his expression by a few degrees.

"I am aware of that fact Captain, and I would suggest you don't go there. My knowledge goes far beyond Eden Prime, and I'd rather it not go to waste as I rot in a jail cell." He replied frostily.

"He's trying to say that he wants to help bring down Saren." Wrex interjected, clearly growing impatient with the wordplay.

The man sighed. "Oh, if only it were that simple, Wrex."

"Then why don't you enlighten us?" Vakarian prompted. He blinked and took a deep breath, clearly collecting his words.

"What I'm trying to say is that Saren is just a proxy. Taking him out would only solve one of a fuck-ton of problems, but it's a step in the right direction. As your luck would have it, I am in possession of knowledge that will allow us to solve these problems. What I don't have however, is the resources, which you, Captain, are in possession of. With that in mind, I propose this: You bring us-" here he indicated himself, Wrex and Vakarian "-along to help you stop Saren from making us go the way of the Protheans."

Iris had to admit, he made a tempting offer. Having a Turian detective and a Krogan Battlemaster along for the ride would be invaluable. But while his suggestion to save Tali had paid off, and the bit about the Protheans was unsettling...

Anderson chose that moment to say exactly what she was thinking. "It's a tempting offer, but Alliance policy forbids bringing civilians into military operations. And I'm going to be blunt son, but you don't look like you would be useful on a battlefield."

Wrex chose that moment to chuckle; a rumbling bass sound that echoed through Iris' ribcage. "That's where you're wrong, human. I've fought with a lot of aliens in the past, and I've got to say that this one has to be one of the most effective I've seen in at least fifty years." He rumbled. The man cocked an eyebrow as he looked at Wrex out of the corner of his eye. He clearly wasn't expecting such praise from a Krogan who had been fighting for close to a thousand years.

"That so?" Anderson asked. "Unfortunately Wrex, I can't accept hearsay."

"True, an Alliance captain can't bring a civilian on board. A _Spectre_ however..." He let the statement hang, looking pointedly at Iris and Tali.

"You really think that getting Saren accused of treason will convince the Council to make me a Spectre?" Iris asked with no small amount of skepticism.

"It's worth a shot. If it doesn't, I've got a couple more tidbits I can use to make the politicians listen. Round up Udina and let's go." He said with a flick of his coat. He hadn't made it two steps before Iris stopped him.

"Before we do that, tell us who you are. I can't stand before the Council and call you 'That Guy'." She said. He stopped abruptly, but kept his back to the group. From her position, Iris could see him shifting slightly. Because she could not see his face, she couldn't be certain that he was simply uncomfortable with the request, or debating lying to them. It took him a grand total of fifteen seconds before he looked back over his shoulder.

"Name's Kingry. Felix Kingry."

* * *

><p><strong>And that's a wrap. In case it was unclear, this is my attempt at a Self-Insert story.<strong>

**DR**


	14. In the Shadow of Humanity

**The Teaser**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 14: In the Shadow of Humanity**

* * *

><p>On Shanxi, no matter who you were in the world, you were expected to hold one nugget of knowledge sacred: The Map was the place to be.<p>

The Map was a pub, but only in the loosest of ways. Two sides had been cut from four prefabricated dwellings and fused at the seams. A couple dozen chairs, stools and tables that had been crammed in served as the seating arrangements. A bar made of wood native to Shanxi had been carved and set up, and finally, dozens of different types of beers, wines and liquors had been stuffed in. The Map was a dive, but as there was no other competition, it may as well have been the Prime Minister's private lounge.

Why was the bar called 'The Map'? Sadie Weiss had asked that very question the day she had been hired. The owner and her boss, Terrence Nackell, had said "Because everyone comes here when they're lost." It was true. Sadie had given almost half of all her patrons directions around New Wuhan, the only cluster on the planet that could be called a city. Most of her patrons were on a first name basis with her as well. Lieke Hoog, who owned a Dutch bakery near the outskirts of the city, took a swig of her beer as she chatted with Wilson Rayne, the apprentice hovercar mechanic. Ben Garland and Anton Solov, off-duty Colonial Marines, sat at the bar clutching shots of tequila. Newlyweds Barry and Naomi Poole shared a table with Tomasso Venzetti, Shanxi's most prominent lawyer. A house full of familiar, smiling faces made Sadie grin at the warm atmosphere of the Map.

A warm atmosphere that chilled abruptly when the stranger walked in.

Within a second of setting her eyes on him, Sadie had concluded that she had never seen this man before. The three or four furtive glances sent his way told her that he was likely new to Shanxi. As she swept her eyes over him, Sadie began to theorize who he could be. Corporate executive or some sort of media mogul seemed appropriate, given the incredibly tasteful suit he was garbed in. She had to squint for an instant, but Sadie's eyes quickly widened when she was able to deduce that the stranger's suit was made of real cloth, not the synthetic weave that seemed to make up every piece of clothing nowadays. _Although, _she thought, _it is an old-style, which could explain it_. The jacket and pants were a deep ocean blue, as was the tie he wore tucked under a wine red vest. Some sort of glittering black stone composed the buttons on the jacket, vest and cuffs.

In a sharp contrast to the suit, much of the stranger's chiseled face was covered by a large, but well-kept beard. Barely visible accents of red presented themselves across the brown hair covering his chin, connecting with his sideburns and trailing down the locks of the ponytail tucked between his shoulder blades. Sadie felt some small amount of fascination at how pale his visible skin was. Were she to hold a glass of milk next to him, the beverage might seem grey. His eyes though... Sadie had never seen such eyes. The shade of green almost completely blended with his sclera. Looking into his eyes as he languidly drew closer to the bar, Sadie didn't know why, but the frigid determination in his expression did not unnerve her.

"Might I see your wine list?" He asked in a low and soothing voice, wisps of a British accent clinging to his tones.

Sadie, who had felt a small tingle at the sound of his voice, quickly shook her head to snap out of her stupor. "Um, yeah, sure, one second." She quickly reached under the bar to pull out one of the cheap, laminated paper drink menus. Nackell had said that the Map wasn't big enough to warrant something as fancy as holographic menus just yet.

His lips quirked up minutely as he accepted the drink menu from her. Sadie could not help but smile back, all the while wondering why she felt so at ease. Everyone in the Map could see the frigid posturing the stranger carried himself with, which by all rights should have set her on edge. So why did she feel so comfortable around him? Naomi and Lieke seemed to be sneaking another look or two at him as well. Actually, _everyone_ had cast a second look his way.

"A glass of Cheval Blanc, please." He decided, languidly handing the menu back to her. The fluidity of which he did so captivated Sadie, causing her to hesitate for a fraction of a second before she busied herself preparing his drink. He nodded silently at her after she presented the glass of red spirit to him. He slowly raised the glass and took a sip, the frigidness of his demeanour lifting somewhat at the taste. For a moment, nothing was said by anyone in the Map, all choosing to simply enjoy their drinks and take a mite of comfort in the stranger's confusing presence.

"... Haven't seen you around before." Sadie finally ventured. Her curiosity won out over the conflicting signals the stranger was giving. She wanted to know who he was, and what he did to be able to have a suit that expensive-looking and order a wine that was fifty Terrans (The form of currency used across the entirety of Earth and her colonies) a glass. He blinked once, very slowly, and shifted his focus to her.

"I should hope not." He replied. "Having another me running about would not be good at all."

Sadie laughed. "So you just got off the shuttle, is what you're saying." She surmised.

"Indeed," he agreed with another tiny sip of his wine.

"So what brought you here?" She continued, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward. It didn't hurt to use her wiles even if the target wasn't being difficult. Sadly, other than a small flick of his eerie eyes to her endowments, the ploy warranted no response.

"Has anyone odd been through recently?" He asked. Sadie blinked at the abrupt question from left field.

"There's all sorts of odds that come through here, stranger." She said. _That_ drew a languid roll of the head, and Sadie felt the strange comfort of the man's presence wane. "I- I mean you need to be more specific, like, what do they look like?" She backpedaled quickly.

"A woman, for starters." He said. "And a very intimidating one at that."

Sadie blinked as she racked her brain. "... Come to think of it, yeah." She exclaimed. "A new girl _did _ pass through here. Almost two days ago." She said. The stranger's expression did not change.

"Describe her." He prodded. As she recalled the details of the woman, Sadie began to have an inkling that there was something else going on here.

"Umm... six-foot, six-foot-two, maybe? Brunette, really long hair, looked like it hadn't been combed in days... Muscles, too. Her biceps looked bigger around than my leg." Sadie shifted both from the encounter, and the stranger's unflinching gaze.

"Was there anything else unusual?" He prodded gentle as could be. "Scars? Tattoos? Behaviour?" He gave examples. Sadie remained silent, contemplating the stranger's prompts. As she recalled the strange woman, something about the stranger's unsettling green eyes triggered another emotion-associated memory.

"Yeah, yeah, she had a little scar on the right side of her neck. Looked like someone tried to take a chunk out of her. No tats that I could see, she had a coat on. I... She... I don't know why, but she _scared_ me." Sadie's voice dropped to a whisper, and with a shifty glance to her other patrons, she beckoned him in closer. He leaned forward an inch or two. "The whole time she was in here, I got this feeling that she wanted to... to _hurt_ everyone. When I asked her about why she came here, she looked at me like I had just insulted her family." She shivered. The stranger blinked twice and broke eye contact.

"Dalson," he murmured. Sadie raised one of her eyebrows.

"You know this muscle freak?" She asked. He bobbed his head to the side in a vague gesture of ascent.

"Only by reputation." He answered. Sadie's earlier inkling of something more going on under the surface of their conversation was becoming more apparent.

"... If I were to ask where this line of questioning is going," she began slowly "you wouldn't tell me, would you?" She asked. He raised his half-empty glass to take another sip of wine, but Sadie was certain that he hid the ghost of a smirk behind his gesture.

"All you need to know is that somebody paid me a great deal of money to find her." He said vaguely. "And that your cooperation would be much appreciated." He added, slowly reaching into his inside pocket and, to Sadie's surprise, withdrawing two one hundred Terran bills and a fifty. Sadie looked up to try and get a hint of what the stranger might be planning, but found nothing in his ghostly eyes.

Again, she surprised herself by answering the unasked question she would normally not have when uncomfortable or around someone she did not know. "She should be at the New Wuhan Hotel. Head north from here about three blocks, and look for the big screen with its name. You can't miss it." She supplied. The man's lips twitched upwards, stopping just short of a smile.

"Thank you," he whispered before taking one last sip. He slid the three bills to her, and pushed away his half-drank glass of Cheval Blanc. Sadie looked at the half-finished glass of incredibly expensive wine just as the stranger stood up.

"I should go." He said quietly as he turned to leave the Map.

The stranger would be the last new person Sadie would ever meet.

* * *

><p><strong>Codex: The Relay 314 Massacre<strong>

The Relay 314 Massacre is the term applied to the first encounter between the Turian Hierarchy and the Human Systems Alliance. In the year 2657 CC [Council Calendar (2157 CE Human Calendar)], a Turian patrol discovered a previously unaccounted for race (the Humans) attempting to activate the (then) dormant Relay 314. Upon seeing this gross violation of the Citadel Conventions, the Turians chose to open fire on the ships instead of opening communications. A single science vessel escaped to warn of the aggressors, and a retaliatory force answered to the Turian brutality, quickly escalating the situation to war.

While unused to the tactics of the Humans, the Turians eventually managed to trace the patrols and scouts to the Theta-Habilis system, where the frontier world of Shanxi resided. Tired and whittled down, the piecemeal Human fleet valiantly fought to the bitter end against the technologically and numerically superior Turian forces. From their position in orbit, the Turians sent down legions (One Turian legion equivalent to one Human division) of troops to pacify any local resistance. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Human Colonial Marines still exacted a heavy toll on the Turian troops. Over the course of six weeks, the Colonial Marines were slowly driven back to New Wuhan, Shanxi's capital where the orbital forces would bomb them to dust. A Turian victory was swiftly approaching.

The direction of the battle immediately changed after what some members of the Hierarchy continually refers to as 'The Night of Bloody Rain'.

The details of the event are unclear at best, as those who managed to live through it were not present at the immediate scene. What is known is that two Humans, a male and a female, at the time thought to be elite operatives, managed to not only trick their way into a Turian base, but evade any armed forces in their way and abduct the commander of the ground forces, General Orinia Turvic. After delivering the general to the remaining Human armed forces through inclement weather, they quickly developed countermeasures to Turian doctrine. Some effective tactics included ditching kinetic barriers to remain invisible to ME field tracking, using copied Turian technology to request strikes on Turian positions or combat drops at ambush points, even turning the Hierarchy's own weapons against them. Very swiftly, the Turians were pushed out of their foothold in New Wuhan at very little expense to the Humans.

The defining moment of Human deviousness during the Relay 314 Massacre was sending General Turvic up to the occupying 11th Fleet's hospital cruiser _Forgiveness_ in a damaged-but-able Turian dropship with an antimatter charge on her person set to detonate upon attempted removal. The cruiser was destroyed by the charge two hours after Turvic's shuttle was picked up. The destruction of the hospital ship, and a great deal of medical supplies, was an enormous blow to the Turian morale, and the herald of the Human Second Fleet. The following Turian mobilization for a full interplanetary war caught the attention of the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union, who bade them and the Humans to cease their actions and engage in diplomatic talks. The Relay 314 Massacre claimed 1348 Human lives (civilian casualties excluded), 2881 Turian lives, and was the first defeat the Hierarchy had suffered since the Krogan Rebellions almost fifteen hundred years previously.

In 2658 CC (2158 CE) general Andrew Williams (Hon. Discharge) released a statement concerning the two Humans responsible for the Night of Bloody Rain:

"... The man and woman who call themselves Shore and Dalson... I don't know what to think about them. While I welcome their intervention during the First Contact War, their acts of brutality committed against a prisoner of war in the name of our survival is something I will never forget. Because of the circumstances... I can allow their acts on Shanxi to slide, but the implications of atrocities committed in their pasts cannot be ignored. For my final command as a general of the Systems Alliance, I must ask that these individuals- whom I assume are operating under false identities- turn themselves in for questioning to ascertain their innocence or guiltiness."

Despite clear images and descriptions, the two Humans calling themselves 'Shore' and 'Dalson' have never been found, and because of their refusal to turn themselves in, are presumed guilty of past grievances. To this day, they are wanted in Alliance territory for questioning, and anyone with information is encouraged to contact their local law enforcement office.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: A new idea I've finally tried: Writing a fic purely from the point of view of side characters, as well as a semi-epistolary format using the Codex. I think this is okay for my first try, but if anyone out there has any tips on how to write a story like this better, please let me know. Now, regarding the topics I know you all care about:<strong>

**I've introduced Shepard, but operating under a pseudonym. And why do his pale green eyes seem so cold, but so polite and inviting at the same time? And as to Dalson, why was he so intent on finding such a brute of a woman? And finally, the big question: How did they survive a raid on a Turian base? Well, since I'm a dick, I'm not going to tell you. Instead, I'm going to give you a couple of clues:**

**1. Part of the inspiration for this story is a timeless classic published in 1897, which is also told in the epistolary style. What is it?**

**2. Have you figured number 1 out? Good! Then if Dalson is a nemesis to Shepard, what is she?**

**Now that I've sufficiently teased your brain, would you kindly:**

**1) Tell me whether or not you liked this teaser**

**2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this teaser**

**3) Tell me what you specifically DIDN'T like about this teaser**

**4) Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Stay tuned for the next chapter of 'In the Shadow of Humanity'.**

**DR**


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